Tunnel Vision
by ICRepresentative
Summary: The CSI's of Las Vegas have to deal with rapist and a murderer, a highprofile kidnapping... and the dark secrets of one of their own. sequal to 'Desperate Now with GSR!
1. Dreams of Green Tea

**Disclaimer**: CSI not mine. Aww, me sad.

**A/N**: Hello everyone, welcome to another CSI fanfic by me, ICRep. I can't write fluff.

Nerwen: Yes, you can. You just have to try.

ICRep: No, I can't. I have to mangle someone, on the page or in real life. People have to DIE!

Tinuviel: No, they don't. You can write fluff! I know you can!

ICRep: This conversation will continue AFTER everyone has a chance to read the story. OK?

Nerwen and Tinuviel: Okay.

(End Authour's note… for now)

* * *

The lights were down low, and a few candles flickered on the table. A pair of figures moved together in a passionate kiss on the television, the music swelling to a crescendo, the sun setting in the background. There was a bottle of wine on the table, half-empty, two empty wine glasses, a steaming mug resting on a coaster, and a plate with crackers and dip.

Valerie picked up her mug and sipped at it gingerly. The green tea was still warm. She put the mug back down, leant back and sighed happily. "Well, I've had a lovely evening."

"Well, it's not over yet." Nick said, gingerly putting an arm around her shoulder. When Val didn't flinch or pull away, Nick pulled her a little closer.

"A regular Romeo, aren't you, Stokes?" Valerie teased.

Nick grinned. "Well, all the trouble you put me through to get your number, I figured I'd have to pull out all the stops to get you to come over."

Valerie laughed. "Oh yes, 'dinner and a movie at my place'." She poked Nick in the ribs. "Little did I know that the movie would be on HBO, and dinner would be wine and crackers, followed by pizza which is…" She checked her watch, "About half-an-hour late? Oh, how romantic. The night of my dreams."

They both laughed as the credits began to roll.

"But," Valerie giggled, "I'm not complaining." She smiled up at Nick, "Nope. Not one bit."

Their eyes locked. The movie seemed to fade into the background, and nothing else in Nick's apartment seemed to matter. The candles flickered, and one of them died. The entire room grew dimmer.

The doorbell rang.

_DAMN_! Nick pulled back. Val put her fingers on the side of his face.

"And you were so close too." She smiled coyly. "I'm guessing this is the only time you _haven't_ wanted the pizza man to come."

Nick shrugged, and said wryly, "Took the words right out of my mouth."

Valerie slowly pulled herself out from under Nick's arm. "Well, I'm starving, so how about I get the pizza?"

"The pizza guy knows I live alone, Val."

Valerie smirked over her shoulder. "Then how 'bout I give him the shock of his life?"

Nick laughed, but rose to his feet. "Let me just get the cash."

Valerie smiled, and unlocked the door. "Think you should tip him extra tonight?"

Nick had his back to Valerie, picking the money up off the table. But he stopped when he heard the door open. Valerie hadn't said a word. There was no cheery greeting, no teasing remark, not even a giggle. Valerie had frozen.

Nick turned, too slowly. The gun went off, too loud, too sudden. Val always seemed like an angel, but now she was flying. A 9mm slug at close range sent her backwards, propelling her through the air. She fell in slow-motion… but the man in the doorway was already running. While Val was falling, the shooter was getting away.

"VAL!"

Her wide green eyes stared up at nothing, and a blood-red eye stared from the centre of her forehead. She was dead. A single shot had killed her instantly.

Nick sat up, fighting a scream. He was covered in cold sweat, and his ears still rang with the shot that had been fired. No, it hadn't been fired. It was just a dream. A nightmare. And his ears weren't ringing. It was his phone. He fumbled for it in the dark.

"Hello?"

Grissom's voice was crisp and perfunctory as usual. "Nick, sorry to wake you." He didn't sound sorry at all. "But there's a 418 we need you to investigate."

"Yeah," Nick said, forcing himself to breathe normally. "Yeah, I'm on my way."

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"Hey, Nick, are you alright?" Sara's voice was tinged with genuine concern. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Nick managed a weak smile. "Bad dream." He was gripping the handle of his kit so hard his knuckles were turning white.

"Alright," Grissom came over, unruffled by the crowd of people gathering outside the building, kept at bay by the police, "The Sheriff called us on this one." Grissom looked anything but pleased about this, and even less pleased when he added, "We have a deadline before the Feds come in and take over."

"Fibbies." Sara commented. "Yay."

"So what happened?" Nick asked.

Grissom all but grit his teeth. "A fashion show was going to be held here," He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Caesar's Palace. "And one of the supermodels has gone missing."

Nick and Sara raised synchronised eyebrows.

"I know." Grissom sighed, "She could just have walked away. But, thanks to our Sheriff's orders, we treat this like a kidnapping. A high-profile kidnapping." He looked at both Sara and Nick. "Work hard, look busy, ignore the press."

"Sound advice," Sara smiled. "Though, not your usual."

Grissom shrugged. "Tonight's not the night for the usual."

**

* * *

Resume A/N:**

ICRep: You're probably wondering how this happened. Well, we (Nerwen, Tinuviel and I) were having a CSI marathon. After declaring repetitively that I can't write fluff, the girls made me sit down and write something. So I did. Here's how it happened…

-_late at night, illuminated by the flickering TV screen_-

-_Nerwen looks over ICRep's shoulder and sees the word '_Romeo'- Hey! You can SO write fluff!

ICRep: I'm not done yet. -keeps typing-

-_Tinuviel also joins in_- I knew you could write fluff!

ICRep: I'm NOT DONE yet :)…

-_ten minutes later_-

Nerwen and Tinuviel: YOU KILLED OFF VAL?!?!?

ICRep: I told you: I can't write fluff without killing someone :)

-_Nerwen and Tinuviel whack ICRep upside the head with pillows and DVD cases_-

And that's how it really happened. TBC… the story, not the Author's note.


	2. Conflicting Tastes

**Disclaimer**: CSI not mine. Val is.

* * *

"Hey Val." 

She nodded at him. "Hey, Warrick. Sorry I'm late."

"Don't sweat it." _You only came in three minutes after me, anyway._

Valerie set down her kit and picked up her camera. "Should I take the happy-snaps?"

Warrick waved over his shoulder at her. "Go ahead." He examined the woman's body as Val took the pictures.

The girl, a brunette with hazel eyes, looked to be in her early twenties. She was pretty good looking, but the expression of panic and pain on her face destroyed that image. According to her neighbour, the girl, Julia Westwood, was still in college. She lived alone in outer suburbia. She was a member of an all-girl band - she multi-tasked, playing practically every instrument. She did everything but sing. At least, she used to.

Her body was frozen in rigor mortis. David had pronounced a few minutes ago, but there was no doubt that the girl was already dead.

"Throat slashed?" Warrick wondered aloud.

"Looks more like cut." Val said, taking pictures of the girl. "Or garrotted. Ninja style." She took extra shots of the girl's neck, and of bruises on her temple and left shoulder.

Warrick shone his flashlight around the room. This girl had a grand piano in her small home. There was an electronic keyboard along one wall, between two bookshelves filled with books, and there was a drum-kit in the corner. A collection of guitars leant against the wall. Warrick went over, seeing something interesting.

"Ninja style?"

Val looked up from her camera. Warrick was holding up one of the guitars. It was an acoustic, and would have had metal strings. But all the strings were missing.

"More like country and western." He commented darkly, his expression grave.

Val, wearing a matching expression, pointed to the body with a glove-covered hand. "A little bit of country…"

Red welts and fresh bruises were formed around the girl's legs. Her skirt was high, and her underwear was down at her knees.

_Julia struggled, screaming through the hand clamped over her mouth, as he raped her. She struggled, trying to throw him off, but it didn't do any good. He just kept going. She tried biting his hand, clawing his face, punching him in the gut… nothing worked. He just kept hurting, hurting, hurting her… And then she felt the wires being tightened, cutting off her air. She screamed again, but just like before, he didn't stop. He didn't stop as she spasmed in her death-throes either._

"A little bit of rock'n'roll." Val finished. Her face was stony.

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"Did Grissom seem a little out of it, to you?" Nick asked Sara.

Sara hid a smile. "Well, you know Grissom. Whenever the sheriff's on his case, he gets riled up."

"Well…" Nick pondered that for a moment, "Didn't he seem almost… resigned to you?"

"Excuse me? Have you found anything yet?"

Sara and Nick turned to find themselves staring at one of the supermodels. Well, Nick was doing most of the staring.

"Who are you, Miss?" Sara asked. "And why are you here?"

"I'm just worried about Tina." The woman said, her porcelain face softened with concern. "It's not like her to run off like this."

Sara forced a smile. "Well, we're working on it. And technically, you shouldn't be here. This is a crime scene."

"Crime scene?" The girl's hands flew to her face, her eyes widening. "What happened to Tina?!"

"We don't know yet," Sara said patiently. "But we're trying to find out."

The girl blinked doe-brown eyes. "Is there anything I can do to help?" She shivered. "Tina was, like, my best friend. I'm really, really worried about her."

Sara fought to keep smiling. "Are you alright? You look cold."

The girl shivered again, and smiled sheepishly. "I'm freezing."

This time, Sara's smile was genuine. "You'd better go get some clothes on."

"I am wearing clothes," the model said, confused. But she tottered off, nonetheless.

Sara looked down at Nick. He'd been gaping the whole time. "Shut your mouth." Nick did so, but grinned as he pulled equipment from out of his kit.

Sara shook her head. _Men_. She shone her flashlight around. A large section of Caesar's had been transformed into the supermodels' natural habitat - catwalk, audience space, and, from what could be seen from down here, a large backstage area. Backstage would mean the makeup tables, bathrooms, waiting areas, wardrobes, and areas where backstage photos could be shot. A lot of places to search. Sara sighed… then something caught her eye. She shone her flashlight on the corner of the catwalk.

"Hey, Sara?" Nick interrupted her train of thought. "What would it take to get you wearing something like that?"

"Like what?" She looked up, distracted. Nick nodded in the direction the model had taken.

Sara raised an eyebrow… then smiled maliciously. "Wouldn't you rather see the new girl in them?"

Nick blanched. "First of all, she's a temp. Second of all… no comment."

Sara hid a smile, and turned her attention back to the catwalk. She took a swab of the dark substance, and added phenolphthalin. It turned bright pink.

"Hey, Nick? We got blood over here."

Nick looked up. "Spatter? Pool?"

Sara shone her torch over the grey-carpeted runway. "Trail." She pulled herself up onto the catwalk and, head down, walked up and down the catwalk, tracing the blood-trail.

"How recently was all this put up?" Nick wondered aloud, "Two, three days ago?" He photographed the droplets Sara had first noticed. "Think it's the missing girl's blood?" He grinned, "If she is missing, that is?"

"Whoever was bleeding was probably a model," Sara said, ignoring Nick, "Given the way that the trail is spread." She shone her torch around again. "I'm guessing it started backstage."

"I'll go check it out," Nick rose to his feet, kit in hand. Sara waved over her shoulder, but kept her head down. Slowly she walked down the catwalk, torch shone at her feet. The dark stains of blood stood out starkly on the grey carpet. It'd take a few tests to confirm if all this came from one person… and then they'd have to get samples from anyone and everyone who had anything to do with this event… Well, one thing was clear. Whoever was bleeding had walked from backstage, up the catwalk, then back again. Just like a model would.

"Put your head up, stop slouchin', and you got yourself the job!"

Sara looked up, and shone her flashlight over to where she heard the voice. _Just how many people were planning to come past the yellow crime tape today?! _

"What did you say?"

The man grinned back at her, his arms folded, standing casually. "I said," He spoke like a New Yorker, "You'd get the job if you held your head up and stopped hunching your shoulders over. You've got potential, doll, and you know it."

Sara squinted at him. "This is a crime scene, sir. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Oh," The man came forward, a little disappointed, "You're one of those cop-chicks. Thought you were the replacement they were sending for Tina."

_The sympathy here is overwhelming_, Sara thought dryly. But she kept her voice level when she said, "The thing is, sir, we're trying to find Miss Evelyn, whether it was a kidnapping or," she barely hid the sarcasm, "If she just walked out."

The man snorted. "Like you're going to find that stuck-up cow before the show." The man scowled, looked at his Rolex - a real one, Sara noticed - then smiled patronisingly at Sara. "Listen, darling, I can see you've got what it takes, so how about if you and your nerd-squad buddies can't find her, you fill in?"

Sara shook her head wryly. But the man took it that she had been considering his offer. "Come on," he begged, "It's not that hard. You put on clothes, you let someone slap makeup on your face, and you walk up and back."

"Before or after I start bleeding?"

The man squinted, perplexed. "Before you what?"

"There's blood all over this runway, sir," she barely kept a straight face, "And seeing as you seem to be in charge, you should know some--…"

"Oh yeah." The man interrupted, and fumbled in the inside pocket of his coat. He pulled out a card. "Incredibly rude of me not to tell you who I am. Marcus Vincent. I manage these girls, get them their gigs and whatnot. Just gimme a call, and you too can be a part of this marvellous business." He held the card out for Sara.

But Sara didn't take it. "I'd rather not take part in any business that treats living human beings like cattle."

Marcus Vincent's smile faded a little, and he shrugged.

"Oh, and sir?" Sara called out, "Before you go, care to tell me how all this blood got up here?"

The man wrinkled his nose in amusement. "It's not blood, honey. It's red wine." He chuckled. "Sorta a celebratory drink between everyone here - we all got a glass when we first got everything set up. Someone musta spilt some." He vanished out the door, leaving Sara in darkness.

_That was your second mistake_, Sara thought coldly, _Lying to a scientist. The first was calling me 'doll'._

Someone coughed politely, and Sara turned to find Nick grinning at her. "What?" She asked.

Nick kept grinning. "Well, I found where your blood trail started. Someone tried a cleanup backstage and it didn't work out. You know, hot water actually sets blood stains?"

"I do know that, actually."

"Why am I not surprised…"

Sara shook her head at him. "Wanna tell me what's so funny?"

Nick tried to stop grinning, but it didn't work. "Oh, nothing, really. I just thought you'd be flattered that a well-known agent would consider you as a candidate." He imitated Marcus' whine. "_You got real potential_." Nick chuckled.

"I've never even heard of him before."

"Exactly."

Sara scowled at him.

**

* * *

A/N:** Yes, I know. Longer chapters. The reason the first chapter was pretty short was because that's the way it's done before the CSI intro. I'm making these into tv shows, ppl! AHAHAHAHA-hack cough-HAHAHAH… PS thanks for your review! 

Nerwen… 'in your eyes'? Ok, that's just freaky. Don't do that, or I'll be forced to make Sophia go out with Grissom, and you wouldn't like that, would you now? -evilgrin- Hahaha just kidding.

I am so proud of my spell checker. It knew how to spell 'phenolphthalin' even after I bashed my head on the keyboard trying to get it right. oT-To -_isproud_- Bless you, Ichabod. Please review, adoring fans!


	3. Of Models and Mole Men

**Disclaimer**: CSI belongs to someone else. Such a shame, really. Warrick… hot DAMN! -fans herself with newspaper-

* * *

Grissom shone his torch around. The desert air was cool, but there were no stars out tonight. They were all hidden from sight by the giant neon signs that flashed and glittered across the whole city. Grissom spared the sky only a passing glance, though - he was more concerned with the trailers and the cars parked behind the hotel. 

"Right," Brass sighed, "So what are we looking for again?"

"Tire treads, signs of struggle." Grissom swept his torch over the ground again. "Anything that could answer our questions." He fought the urge to sigh.

Brass pulled a face. "You don't really believe that Ms Evelyn was kidnapped, do you?" The detective shook his head. "Puh-lease. If this isn't a publicity stunt, this is a girl who actually wants to eat something more than three peas for lunch."

"Three peas?"

Brass shrugged. "Hey, what else do you expect supermodels to eat?"

Grissom looked over at the detective and raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

"Anyway," Brass continued, "The girls' agent says we can check Tina's trailer if we want. She shared it with two other girls, though, so it could be a little messy in there."

"How messy can teenage girls be?" Grissom squinted.

Brass shook his head. "Huh. You don't wanna know. And technically, Gil, these models aren't teenagers." He knocked on one of the trailer doors. "Las Vegas Police! Anyone in there?" After a moment, Brass opened the door and stepped inside. Grissom followed.

In one corner of the trailer, there were three heavy metal lockers, similar to the kind used in high-schools everywhere. A large section of the trailer had been curtained off as a makeshift changing area, and a small door led to an airplane-sized bathroom. Racks of clothing lined the walls. Three dressing tables dominated the trailer, decorated with feather-boas, stickers, and piles and piles of makeup.

"Well, this isn't too bad." Brass said, hands on his hips, surveying the trailer.

"Where do they sleep?" Grissom swung his torch around. "I don't see any beds."

Brass pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and read from it. "Ah, let's see. Well, Caesar's is letting them stay in the hotel rooms. High-class suites. Individual rooms." He looked up at Gil and grinned. "Apparently, they only come down here to get ready for their photo -shoots and for the big event."

"When is the big event?" Grissom asked, opening one of the lockers. A big sticker on the locker door announced in curly pink script that the locker belonged to 'Jacqueline'. Three worn teddy-bears stared back at him, as well as a large collection of Beanie Babies. The inside of the locker had been wallpapered bright pink, and someone had drawn hearts all over the paper in red pen. Grissom winced and slowly shut the locker door.

Brass smiled. "If you don't find Tina in three days - that's when the fashion show is on, by the way - Mr Vincent is gonna sue."

"Sue who?"

Brass shrugged. "Everyone, I guess. He's got the power, and the money. Anyway, the sheriff doesn't want that to happen. Hence, he's bringing in the Feds."

The second locker had a padlock on it, one that required a key. _We'll have to come back to check that one later_, Grissom thought, as he reached for the third. This one, according to the plain white label, was Tina's. The missing girl's locker. Grissom opened it slowly.

"Well," Brass blinked, "That's not exactly what I'd expect in a supermodel's locker."

Grissom looked over the book titles. "'_Misery'_, '_Insomnia_' and '_Night Shift'_."

"Stephen King?" Brass fought with a smile. "A little dark for a supermodel, don't you think?"

"Peter Benchley, Oscar Wilde, Roald Dahl…"

"Still creeping me out."

"Othello, Hamlet, Midsummer Night's Eve…"

"Okay," Brass pulled a wry face, "I'm really starting to worry about this girl's sanity now."

Grissom looked around the locker, past the substantial pile of books. There didn't seem to be much, aside from a few containers of makeup and bags of sanitary items. Nothing out of the ordinary. And nothing seemed to be missing.

"Oh!" A girl's startled squeal made both CSI and detective turn. One of the girls stood in the doorway. "I'm sorry," she stammered, "I didn't know someone was in here."

"It's okay," Brass said reassuringly, "I'm Detective Brass, and this is Gil Grissom of the Crime Lab."

The girl's eyes widened. "Oh, so you must be friends with those two in the main building." She smiled, but was still nervous. "They didn't tell me what happened… where's Tina?"

"We don't know yet," Grissom said. "But we're trying to find out." He pointed to the locker with the padlock on it. "Is this yours?"

"Oh, no." The girl shook her head. "That's Dana's. She likes her privacy." The girl frowned prettily. "She said that she didn't like how the other girls would come in and steal her things. She used to call them…" The girl giggled behind her hand and grinned impishly, "'_Stuck-up bitches'_." The girl looked scandalised, but also childishly pleased with herself.

"I'm guessing you're Jacqueline." Grissom said.

The girl nodded. "But everyone calls me Jackie." She bit her lip. "Umm, do you mind? I… I want to get changed." She shivered. "I'm freezing, and the girl back there said I should get some real clothes on." Brass raised an eyebrow, then looked back at Grissom. The CSI blinked at the supermodel. Brass had to wave slightly to get Grissom's attention.

"Go ahead," Brass smiled at Jackie. "We'll be waiting outside."

Grissom had no choice but to follow. Once he had shut the door, Brass shook his head.

"Is it just me, or did that girl seem like a few fries short of a Happy Meal?"

Grissom frowned. "An unhappy childhood can contribute to childish behaviour as an individual gets older. It could be the manifestations of mental plea for everything to be right with the world, or an individual's way of coping with severe trauma. Just because she collects stuffed animals and acts like a little girl doesn't mean that her mind is incapable of comprehending more complex issues; she just remains in the past. She probably finds being pushed to the limit for the sake of beauty stressful, and this could just be her way of dealing with it."

Both men looked out over the dark backlot of the hotel in silence for moment.

"Or she could be faking it," Brass commented wryly.

"You know, I think I'd like to have a look in Mr Vincent's trailer," Grissom said, changing the subject.

"Why?" Brass asked.

Grissom shrugged. "Just curious, I guess."

"Curiosity got the cat sued," Brass said dryly, "But I guess there's no harm in asking. Anything in particular you're looking for?"

"I don't know." Grissom shrugged again, "But it wouldn't hurt to look, right?"

"Right," Brass said, as both men went over to Marcus Vincent's trailer.

Brass knocked announced himself, and waited. Nothing. "I guess he's not in." Brass looked both ways, then back at Grissom. "Think he'll sue us if you go in and take a quick look?"

"Invasion of privacy, Jim."

Brass waved a dismissive hand. "Eh, he's not here. 'Sides, we're investigating a 'kidnapping', remember? So we have every right to search the premises, just in case Tina Evelyn is being hidden." Brass shrugged, then added, "Or something." He opened the door and bowed, "After you, Doctor."

Grissom shook his head in mock-despair, but went into the trailer.

"Oh, you gotta be kidding." Brass said, stepping in after Grissom. "Somehow, I think a supermodel's agent would have a little bit more… style."

"Maybe he prefers to save his money." Grissom looked around the stark trailer. The only furniture was two chairs, a glass coffee table, and a shelf with a few books and a handful of knick-knacks. A worn laptop rested on the coffee table, connected to a power outlet by a thick ugly wire. Something caught Grissom eye, and he went over to the table. He ran his finger over the glass, then examined the dust on his fingertip.

"What is it?"

Grissom's mouth tightened. "I think it would be a good idea to have a discussion with Mr Vincent."

Brass raised an eyebrow. "You think he had something to do with Tina's disappearance?"

"Well," Grissom said stoically as he opened his kit, "He has something to do with this cocaine."

Brass sighed. "Ah, the responsible father-figure's secret sin." He watched as Grissom took samples. "How many of his girls you think knew about it?"

"Why don't you go find out?" Grissom said. Just then, his pager went off. It was a message from Sara. '_Blood on catwalk - agent ducked and covered_'. Grissom looked up at Brass. "Better yet," the CSI added, "Why don't you round up the models and the manager. I've got a few questions for them."

Brass nodded, and grinned. "Are you planning to take them back to the station to… interrogate them?"

Grissom shrugged. "It may come to that." His mouth was set in a grim line. Brass's humour vanished.

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Warrick and Valerie watched silently as the body of Julia Westwood was carted away in a black plastic bag. The room was cold and empty, and smelt of death.

"She had her whole life in front of her," Warrick said softly.

"That bastard's gonna pay."

Warrick looked down at the red-head. "Are you alright?"

Valerie shrugged, then sighed. "I don't know. Vegas is… well…" She sighed again. "The cases are different, but the crimes are the same. Theft, rape, murder…" She smiled at Warrick. "I'll deal. I always do."

"Right," Warrick nodded. "So. Where should we start?"

Valerie looked around the room, her face blank. "Maybe entrances and exits. Any signs of forced entry, anything out of the ordinary?"

"Forced exits are out," Warrick said. "The police had to batter their way in. Neighbour reported screams, but no-one saw anyone come in or out."

Valerie looked out the window into the immaculate garden outside. "No hedges, not many trees. No place to hide." She frowned. "Someone she knew? Someone everyone knew and no-one suspected?" She shook her head, then froze. "Hey, Warrick? Check this out." In the white carpet was a large smudge of dirt.

"Can't be the vic's," Warrick frowned, "She wasn't wearing shoes, and her feet were clean."

"It's a start." Val lifted the camera to her eye and took a few photos.

Warrick looked around the apartment. "The killer probably tracked dirt inside."

"I don't think this is a footprint," Val said carefully, examining the mark, "It looks more like… a handprint?"

Warrick frowned, "Who goes digging in the dirt with their hands?" He looked around the room. "I'm going to go check the other rooms, see if the killer left anything in there. And maybe I'll find a window or something." He left, taking his kit with him.

Valerie looked around the empty room, and sighed. A girl was dead, raped, and all they had to work with was a dirty handprint in carpet. No prints from there, obviously. With another sigh, Valerie set aside her camera and opened up her kit. The killer might have left something of his on the rug when he was raping Julia. If there was DNA, Valerie swore she'd find it.

She scraped at a damp spot on the carpet with a cotton swab, then sat back. Julia Westwood's blood stained the cream-coloured carpet in spurts where the wire had sliced her throat. _The killer's creative, I'll give him that_. Valerie wiped her face with the back of her arm. _It's not every day you come up with the idea to strangle someone with guitar strings. But it couldn't have been the weapon of choice. It would take a while to undo every single guitar string. _Val's eyes widened, then narrowed_. He was in here for a while. He had time to spare._

Warrick knelt down by the bin in the bathroom, and pulled the used condom out with a pair of tweezers. He bagged it, quickly, unable to hide the disgust on his face. _It's like this guy _wants_ to get caught_, he thought darkly. _He leaves his DNA at the scene in plain sight? Something's up_. Warrick looked around the pristine white bathroom, then opened up the can of fingerprint powder. _No-one takes bloody guitar strings with them. They have to be here somewhere_. Warrick started dusting the toilet.

Valerie went to the windows with her own container of fingerprint powder. She dusted the catch and the sill. A few partials emerged. She dusted the doorhandles, inside and outside, of the doors that lead to the room where Julia had been killed. Again, partials and smudges. Val swore softly. _What was this guy doing, wearing gloves or something_? She forced herself to calm down, then started dusting the guitar. Her eyes widened. "He's cleaned it."

Warrick shook his head. "Nothing." Whoever had killed Julia hadn't used the bathroom, aside from using the bin to dump the condom. He'd dusted the door handle, and the door, just in case, but the only clear fingerprints would most likely come back Julia. He stood up and headed back.

Valerie was standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living-room, scanning the whole room, her arms folded. She didn't even acknowledge Warrick. Her eyes were hawk-like, and were the only part of her that moved.

"I found a used condom in the bathroom," Warrick cleared his throat. Val jumped, startled. "Sorry," he apologised.

"No, it's okay." Val shrugged. "It's how I assess a scene." She started looking around the room again. "He wiped the guitar clean, and he couldn't have come in through the window. It's too high off the ground."

"Maybe we should look outside," Warrick said, crossing the room towards his partner. "Find out how he got in and out…" Warrick's foot caught on the rug, and he stumbled.

Val's eyes lost their intense edge as she rushed forward. "Careful!" She said, but Warrick righted himself. "You right?"

Warrick nodded. "Yeah, I'm cool." He looked back at the rug. "Who puts a rug on carpet, anyways?"

Val and Warrick exchanged glances, then grabbed hold of the rug and peeled it back.

"What is that?"

"That looks like a cover-up." Val picked up her camera again and took photos of the trapdoor. "I'd say this counts as premeditated, don't you think?"

Warrick reached down and pulled open the trapdoor, and he and Val both peered down.

"So, who digs in the dirt with their hands?" Valerie asked flippantly.

"A raping, murdering mole man." Warrick answered.

Outside, a crowd was gathering, shivering in the night air in their nightgowns and pyjamas. They watched as Warrick and Val came out of Julia Westwood's home and started searching around the garden close to the house.

"Hey!" Warrick called, "Check this out!" Val came over and stood next to Warrick. Behind one of the hedges, on the side of the house hidden by the neighbour's fence, part of the brickwork of the home had been removed. The dirt around the opening was the same colour as the dirt in the house. "What do you think? Point of entry?"

"Only one way to find out," Val knelt down on the dewy grass and peered in the hole. "Someone has to crawl through." Warrick also knelt down, and measured the width of the hole with the measuring tape.

"Well," Warrick, "I guess I'm out - I'm too broad-shouldered to fit." He looked at Valerie. It took a second for Valerie to realise.

She turned to face him and raised an eyebrow. "Nick and Greg ask me for my phone number, and you're asking for my measurements?" Warrick laughed, and even Val had to smile at that.

"I will fit, in case you're wondering." She added.

"Good." Warrick grinned as he rose to his feet. "Well, we'd better head back to the lab. We're going to need diving equipment."

**

* * *

**

**A/N:** Longest chapter I have ever written. That's for you long-chapter fans out there. Next chapter coming soon. Please review!

Ahaha… Warrick asks for your measurements on your first date, ladies!


	4. Skin Deep

**Disclaimer**: Val is my creation, the rest is not.

**A/N**: I know, I know, you love my stories. But I'm in year eleven now. So I'll prolly be updating weekly instead of daily. Sorry. School sux, I know.

* * *

"Hey man," Nick opened the door to the DNA lab and handed the spiky-haired labrat a box full of the blood samples from the catwalk. "Could you process these for me?" 

Greg glowered up at Nick as he took the box. "Sure," he bit off the words, "I would be SO happy to."

Nick frowned. "What's your problem?"

Greg put the box down and glared up at Nick. "My problem? My problem? I don't have a problem!" Nick blinked. Greg kept going, "No, no problem at all. I mean, it's not like you're trying to steal my girlfriend or anything… Oh wait, yes you are."

"What are you talking about?" Nick smiled, uneasily.

Greg started sorting through the pile of blood samples. "Oh, nothing. Aside from Val, nothing really."

"Hold up," Nick frowned good-naturedly, "You're mad at me because Val gave me her phone number?"

"Oh," Greg rolled his eyes, "So you do know what I'm talking about!" He muttered under his breath.

Nick bit back a smile. "Yeah, okay man. Just process the swabs for me, will you? This is kinda important."

"What are you guys investigating anyway?" Greg whined, "A multiple? Day shift has already piled two lots of those on me tonight and I…"

"A supermodel was kidnapped from Caesar's, and we found blood all over the catwalk."

Greg's bad mood vanished instantly. "Supermodel? Did you get to meet other supermodels?"

Nick nodded, "Yeah, and we're bringing in the other five for interrogation."

"When? When?!"

"Down, boy," Nick grinned. "I'll page you when they come in, okay?"

Greg grinned like the Cheshire cat. "Awesome!" He spun around in his chair and rocked to an unheard song.

There was a knock on the door, and the boys turned to see Val behind the glass. Greg waved at her, and she came in. "Hey, guys." She held up a bag full of samples. "You're not too busy, are you, Greg?"

"Not at all," Greg said smoothly, pushing Nick's box out of the way. Nick rolled his eyes and shrugged at Val. Val smiled back.

Greg saw the glance that passed between them, and frowned slightly. He grabbed the Seattleite's attention again, "Nice to see you're not dressed so formal today." Val was wearing jeans and a shirt. Sure, the short was long-sleeved and collared, but it was pink, so she definitely looked more relaxed.

"Yeah," Val said dryly, not even batting an eyelid, "Apparently the power suits were a little intimidating." There was something in the way that Val avoided Nick's eye contact that made it obvious the comment was directed at him.

"So, Valerie," Greg cleared his throat and put on his charming face, "What are you investigating?"

"Rape-murder," Val said matter-of-factly, "And Warrick's getting diving equipment so we can see how the killer got in."

Nick frowned. "I thought you and Warrick were in the outer suburbs."

Val nodded. "We are. The killer dug under the house and used the trapdoor."

"You're kidding."

Val shook her head. "Nup. So I'm going into the crawl-space."

Greg interrupted, "Well, Nick's case sounds nowhere as interesting. He's just investigating a kidnapped supermodel."

Val blinked at Greg, then raised an eyebrow. "Are you just saying that to try and impress me?"

"Is it working?" He grinned roguishly.

Val smiled… slowly. "Do you really want to know?"

Nick coughed sideways, hiding a word that sounded something like 'suck-up'. Greg glared at him.

"Supermodels, huh?" Val raised an eyebrow, "So, how does that work?"

"I dunno," Greg shrugged. "But they're coming in for interviews later. Well, interviews with Nick."

Val tried not to smile as she turned to face Nick. "Sounds like you got your work cut out for you…" She frowned. "Why are you staring at me?"

Nick shook himself. "Huh? What?"

Val raised an eyebrow. "You're looking at me like you expect me to suddenly spontaneously combust or something."

_That's not what I was thinking. I was thinking I couldn't stand to see you get shot again…_

"You don't need to spontaneously combust, Valerie," Greg grinned, "You're already on fi-yar!"

Val folded her arms and sighed. "Okay. Yeah. Thanks, Greg. Just process the samples for me, will you?"

Greg bowed, and started opening some of the samples. "Your wish is your command, Lady Wilks," he said, putting on a posh accent.

Valerie looked unimpressed. "… Greg, a girl was raped and murdered."

"Right. Sorry." Greg got to work.

Nick cleared his throat. "Hey, Valerie? When you're not busy, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind…"

"Hey!" Greg lifted his head, outraged, "Are you trying to ask her out? The nerve of you, Stokes! I got her number first!"

Val blinked, then sighed. "… boys, boys, please…" She started to blush.

"Sorry." Nick backed down.

Greg butted in and grinned at Valerie. "Would you go out with me?"

This time it was Nick's turn to be outraged. "Greg!"

The labrat grinned. "What?"

Val shook her head, still blushing. "Sort it out between yourselves first." She sighed, then headed for the door, "Thanks. Bye." She shut the door behind her. Sara was there, outside the lab.

"Hey, Val!" She smiled.

"Hey, Sara," Val smiled as she passed her, but under the smile, she was very pale, and looked like she was about to be sick. Sara frowned at Valerie's strange reaction, shrugged, then went into the lab. Nick and Greg were scowling at each other.

"Ok," she interrupted the glaring match, "What just happened?"

Greg pointed an accusing finger. "He ruined my chances of getting a date with Valerie!"

"_I_ ruined _your_ chances?!" Nick sounded incredulous. "Gimme a break!"

Sara turned back to look through the glass. She turned just in time to see Val's walking speed go from business-like march to sprinting as Val headed down the corridors. She dashed around the corner and was lost to Sara's sight.

"Would you boys excuse me for a minute?" Sara slipped out of the lab and followed after Val.

Greg gaped at Sara's retreating back, then turned and shook his head at Nick. "You know, you are seriously ruining my chances of a decent love life. First Val, now Sara... Y'know, I'm beginning to think you have a grudge against me. Turning away all my women…"

"And I think all that hair gel is doing something to your brain."

"At least I got a brain."

"Touché."

"Listen, Stokes," Greg shook a warning finger at Nick. "You keep away from Val. She's mine."

"Says who?"

Sara stopped, and looked around. Val had vanished. Well, not entirely. There was only one of two doors she could have gone through. Sara pushed the door to the Ladies' Room open and slipped inside.

Val was standing in front of one of the mirrors, staring at her reflection. Water was dripping over her face, like she'd just splashed herself with water. She had pulled the corner of her shirt up with her left hand, exposing her stomach. With her right hand, Val was pressing her fingers against a diagonal white scar that ran from her ribs to her bellybutton, left-to-right.

"That looks nasty." Sara offered gently.

Val jumped as though she'd just been shot. She whirled, her eyes wide, and stared at Sara. Then, without a word, she pushed past the CSI and dashed outside.

After a moment of shock at the red-head's reaction, Sara turned and hurried after her.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sara found Val outside, standing in the cool night air, biting on her knuckles. She had her back to Sara.

"I'm sorry," Val said, not even turning around. "I didn't mean to freak out."

"'Freak out?' That's an understatement…" Sara paused, then added, "Are you alright?"

Val nodded. "Yeah, I'm…" She took a deep breath, nodded again. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just don't like it when people see my scars."

Sara stared. "Scars? Plural? As in, there was more than one of those?"

Val winced. "Yeah."

Sara stood next to Val. "How did that happen?"

Val waved the question away. "I'll tell you later. I don't feel like talking about them right now. I just… I guess I need a breather." She shook her head and chuckled bitterly. "It's been a while since someone's asked me that question. Thing is, you actually sound sympathetic, which is…" Val sighed, then smiled suddenly at Sara. "Hey, don't let me forget: I bought you something today. Before work started."

"You…" Sara was thrown by the sudden change of topic, but she didn't let it show. "You bought me something?"

The red-head nodded. "Yeah. After work, I went shopping." Her eyes lit up, "The prices in Vegas are awesome. Anyway, I saw something I thought you'd like, and I just had to grab it."

"How would you know what I like?" Sara frowned. "You only met me last shift."

Val shrugged. "I'm good at figuring out what people are like." She looked up at the stars and sighed.

Sara would have offered some kind of sympathetic response, if she'd been able to think of one. Fortunately, her beeper went off. It was Grissom.

"I have to go," she said, "Are you sure you're alright?"

Val smiled. "Hell, yeah. I'm fine. Don't worry about me." The red-head grinned. "I'd worry about Greg, though. He's gonna have a field-day with all those models coming in."

Sara bit back a smile of her own. "Strangely enough, that's exactly what Grissom paged me about. They're here now."

Val's smile turned wry. "Why didn't you just interview them at the site? I mean, it's not like they've committed a crime. Right?"

Sara shrugged. "Well, when we tried to talk to any of them, all of the girls had nothing to say. And given the way that their agent kept scowling, he was making them say nothing."

"And given the way you're scowling," Val grinned, "You don't like the agent. What he do, threaten to call the cops?"

"He offered to hire me."

Val laughed. "Is that all? Sara that is probably the highest compliment a guy can give a girl. 'You aughtta be a supermodel'? Even if that was a line, I'd bite!"

Sara shrugged, not smiling. "I'd rather not get into any business that treats human beings like cattle."

"Something tells me you've used that line before." Val said, with raised eyebrow.

Sara smiled. "It came to me while I was on the catwalk."

"On… the catwalk?" Val blinked.

"Well, I have to go. Grissom wants me to help interview the manager and the models. Nick and Greg are apparently already at the station, waiting."

Val's grin widened further. "Oh, this I _have _to see!"

-

Brass and Grissom looked through the glass. Five slim, attractive young women lounged in the lobby of the police station, looking bored. All except for Jackie, who was staring about her with wide-eyed wonder, one of her stuffed animals tucked in the crook of her arm. Marcus Vincent was pacing back and forth, barking orders into his phone and generally getting stressed out.

"Monica Mareschka, Dana McCormick, Samantha Renée, Ayumi Ohashi, and Jacqueline Connors. They don't call 'em _super_models for nothin'." Brass turned back to Grissom, unable to hide a childlike grin. "So. Whom do we interview first?"

Grissom frowned through the glass. One of the models looked his way, frowned back, then looked away, feigning boredom again.

"Perhaps we should get the manager out of there," Grissom tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe then the models will be more responsive."

"Mmm-hmm…" Brass looked over the girls appreciatively.

"Jim…" Grissom warned, "Three days, then lawsuits, remember? Or would you rather it were the other way around?"

Brass sighed resignedly, then nodded. "Right." He opened the door, called for Marcus, then lead him down the hallway to one of the interrogation rooms. The agent complained the whole way.

"This is completely and utterly unfounded! You have no right to detain me or the girls! I ain't broken no laws, and I ain't got nothin' to do with Tina's disappearance! Hey! Quit crowding! One more stunt like that, buddy, and you'll be so deep in red-tape you won't even be able to breathe…"

Grissom looked through the glass again, this time to frown at Greg. The labrat had been standing there for at least five minutes. Just staring.

Sara and Val came up behind Greg, and exchanged glances. Val cleared her throat.

"We need a mop on aisle four," she called, "Excessive drool in the hallway."

"These… ladies," Greg sighed, like a kid in a candy store, "Are just fantastic. Not," he added, without taking his eyes off the models, "That you two ladies aren't fantastic, but they are… just… so… so…"

"So much _more_ fantastic?"

Greg whimpered an affirmative.

"Beauty's only skin-deep, Greg." Sara added.

"And their skin looks fantastic…"

Val rolled her eyes, then grinned. "Well, this has been fun. But I really should go and get to work on my case."

"Yeah," Sara smiled tightly. "Have fun."

Brass remerged in the glass room, and called for one of the models. She rose to her feet - on legs to long and tan they made Greg whimper anew - and followed Brass out of the room. The remaining four models sighed, stretched, and resigned themselves to waiting.

"Whoo! Check them out!"

Sara and Val turned to find Nick and Warrick standing behind them. Nick looked sheepish, and Warrick was craning to see the remaining models. "Damn, they fine!"

"What are you doing here?" Sara asked Warrick.

Warrick grinned back. "I came looking for Val." He looked at the red-head and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Everything's in the Tahoe, ready to-go." The pun on the syllables was not lost on Valerie, but she didn't show it.

"That's great," she nodded. "But are _you _ready to go?"

Warrick looked crushed. "But I just got here." He looked through the glass windows. "I don't even know their names yet!"

Nick held up a list for his friend. "Here."

Greg whirled around and snatched it from him before Warrick could even move, then returned to his post right up against the glass. Warrick starred, then tried to pull the list from the labrat. But Greg refused to budge. Warrick and Greg started a silent bout of tug-o-war, both determined to get the list, and both determined not to tear it.

"Okay, it's getting pretty sad in here," Val crossed her arms.

"And we're outnumbered," Sara agreed.

Nick shrugged. Sara sighed. Val rolled her eyes again, shook her head, and turned to go. But blocking her path was one of the models.

"Do I know you?" The model said smoothly, with a voice like silk. Warrick and Greg both turned to gape, greg being the one still holding the list.

Valerie frowned and shook her head. "No, I don't think so."

"You sure?" She smiled genteelly, her accent sounding slightly French, "Because I could have sworn I recognised you from somewhere. You weren't on a billboard, or something?"

Nick gaped.

But Val shook her head. "No, I'm… I've never been in the fashion industry."

The woman smiled a little wider. "Well, you know, you could be. I mean, you've got the face. And I just _love_ your wardrobe."

Val avoided looking self-consciously down at her jeans, but barely. She managed a weak, if not confused, smile.

"You know," the woman continued, her features calm and serene, "If you wanted, you could go far. Take it from me; I'm in the business."

"You are the business," Greg breathed reverently. According to the list in his hands, the woman talking to Val was Samantha Renée.

"If you got your hair done up," Samantha continued, "Put on a bit of makeup, you could be one of us…" She smiled again, but this time, unfriendly and predatory. "But then, you'd definitely have to lose some weight."

Val gasped, surprised, and pulled an incredulous face. "What?"

"You heard me," Samantha said as she walked away, "Fat girl." The supermodel laughed as she was led down the hall by Brass, who only looked back to wince apologetically at Val.

There was silence among the CSI's for a moment. No-one really knew what to say.

"Well," Greg shrugged, "I guess she's one of the meaner ones." He mimed crossing Samantha's name off the list.

"Uh, Val? Are you ok?" Nick put his hand gently on her arm, then removed it.

Val slowly managed to regain control of the expression on her face. She took a breath, and was the picture of calm again… if not the fighting-not-to-scream-and-beat-the-living-daylights-out-of-that-bitch kind of calm. "Come on, Warrick. We have a case to solve." And with that, she turned and headed down the corridors.

Sara looked at Nick with raised eyebrow. "And you wondered why I didn't want to be considered a candidate for modelling?"

"If you develop an attitude like that," Warrick winced, "Then don't even think about it." He turned and ran after Val, calling for her to slow down.

Greg turned back to the models inside the room, looking a lot less engrossed than before.

"Beauty's only skin-deep," Sara reminded him.

* * *

TBC 

**A/N**: I apologise to people who love pure, unadulterated CSI case-files. I love them too, but I've added in another character, and I have seven shifts to introduce her to you. The rest of the cast has five seasons' worth of introduction time, so I hope you can understand why I'm kinda pushing Val to the limit. I'm also definitely trying to make the case-files as engaging as the RelationFiles. I'm also, at the insistence of Nerwen and Tinuviel, trying to get Grissom and Sara together. He's a slippery bastard, I'll give him that. :P

I also apologise to people actually in the beauty business - I'm sure you're not all like Samantha. But I'm playing on the stereotypes here. I'm sure a lot of beautiful people are actually very nice, Angelina Jolie and Keira Knightly, for ones.

Do you know how hard it is to write a scene where someone subtly calls someone 'fat' in front of a crowd?


	5. Preparation

**Disclaimer**: Ramble, ramble, ramble.

* * *

Warrick let his fingers fly over the keys of the piano, a mournful tune. Something blue. But with a deft flick of his fingers, the song lifted a beat, started sounding a little jazzy, a little more upbeat. The house seemed to warm to the sound of music being played inside it once again - for once, the empty room seemed to fill with life. If Julia's soul still resided in this room, (as Sara would have believed) the dead girl's spirit was soothed, put to rest even, but the sound of music. Warrick slowed his playing once more, slipping again into a minor key, playing soft and low. 

"Wow."

Warrick stopped, his fingers frozen on the keys, and turned. Valerie stood in the doorway, wearing the Forensics jumpsuit he'd gotten from the lab. She was staring at him, awed, her hands raised as though she were about to applause.

"Sorry," Warrick rose to his feet, looking sheepish. "I just couldn't help it. I mean, it was right there and no-one was playing it… I just got the itch."

"Hey," Val said, still awed, "Anyone who can play any kind of musical instrument earns a gazillion Brownie points in my book." She grinned. "Especially if they can play Fur Elise."

"You like Beethoven?"

Val nodded. "Love it. Love it, love it, love it. I couldn't hold a tune in a bucket if I tried, but I know what I like."

Warrick grinned back, still a little embarrassed, but warmed by Val's compliment. "You ready to go?"

Val gave him the thumbs-up. "You betcha."

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Samantha looked up under her eyelids at Nick. "Cocaine? In Marcus' trailer? Really?"

"Just answer the question," he said shortly.

The supermodel shrugged. "I wouldn't have a clue, really. What goes on in the agent's trailer is the agent's business - we stick to our own trailers, the hotel rooms, and the places where we have to strut our stuff." She tossed her hair and leaned a little closer to Nick. "Hey, it's getting a little hot in here. Mind if I take this off?" She tugged at her jacket lapel. Nick said nothing.

"Ms Renee," Sara looked up from the file she was holding, "You've been with Marcus the longest of any of the girls in his employ - and you haven't noticed his drug addiction?"

Samantha gave Sara a brittle glare. "Of course not. We strut up and down on stage and look good in the clothes we're told to wear. That's all."

"You have a degree from Harvard."

"Yeah, and?"

Sara looked at the model, frowning. "You don't want to do anything better with your life?"

Samantha, for once, looked a little put out. She pulled and twisted with a ring on her finger. "No." She took a breath, then smiled that predatory grin again. "No, I can't really think of anything I'd rather do. I mean, this world's full of people who've got gifts. Why not use 'em, right? And mine is looks." She smiled at Nick again. "Wouldn't you agree, handsome?"

"Good looks are no substitute for good manners."

Samantha barely batted an eyelid. "You must be Southern. Tina would say the exact same thing. Dallas, right?"

Nick exchanged glances with Sara. "What do you know about Tina?"

Samantha made a dismissive noise. "Stuck-up cow. Always thought she was better than the rest of us. Shares a trailer with the snot-nosed brat and the book nerd. She's the most difficult to deal with."

"Deal with?" Nick raised an eyebrow.

Samantha smiled, but offered no explanation.

"By 'snot-nosed brat' and 'book nerd'," Sara leant against the wall and flipped through the file, "I'm presuming you mean Jackie and Dana."

Samantha shrugged and looked bored. "Whatever. The Blondes are all a bunch of stuck-up cows. Which is why they're all penned together. Moo." She grinned viciously.

"The Blondes?"

Samantha looked at Sara as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Yeah, the Blondes. 'Cause they all have blonde hair. And for some reason, they call us the Bitches."

Nick and Sara exchanged glances. Nick smiled a slightly frosty smile. "Now, why on earth would that be?"

Samantha gave him a false smile in return. "Ha. Ha. And ha for good measure." She shrugged. "Look, I don't know anything, alright? If Tina's gone, no big loss. Some of us could double up. For some reason, six is Marcus' lucky number, okay? So he wants six girls modelling in three days' time. But we could do without her. I mean, we've dealt with only five of us before, when Jackie…" She made quote marks in the air with her fingers, "_'Got sick'_." She snorted and folded her arms. "Got sick my ass."

"You seem pretty sure about that." Sara said coolly. "Why would that be?"

Samantha closed her eyes and heaved a sigh. "Jackie's a kid. And like all kids, she misbehaves. So what do you do when kids misbehave? You discipline them. Like I said, 'got sick'."

Sara stared, aghast. "Discipline?"

"Look," Samantha sat up, looking business-like and suddenly like she had better things to do. "I came here, didn't I? I've answered your stupid questions, told you more than I ever thought I would have. You're supposed to be scientists…" She rose to her feet, "So figure it out yourself." She headed for the door.

"We're not done," Nick called out. "Sit down."

Samantha turned back. Her expression was cold, and her eyes glittered with menace. "You may not be done, but I am. If you want to talk to me, go through Marcus and all his lawyers. You went around him to get this interview - next time you do it the hard way." She slammed the door behind her.

Nick sat back in his chair and sighed. Sara sat down and put the file on the table between them. "Well," She said dryly, "That went well."

"It was more than what she said back at Caesar's."

Sara looked at him strangely. "Perhaps if you used your 'Southern charm', she might have said a little more." She smiled a little. "Something on your mind?"

Nick shook his head. "Not really."

Sara smiled, a little wider this time. "Not really?"

Nick shook his head again. "Not really." He paused a beat, then changed the subject. "I think it would better if we interviewed the girls who shared a trailer with Tina. They'll probably know more about her, maybe have more clues to her disappearance."

Sara's expression went from amused to deadpan in an instant.

"What?" Nick said, smiling, "Forget the main reason for our investigation, did you, Sara? We're looking for a missing supermodel - finding a drug-addict manager was just a sideline, something that came up. Don't chase it too hard."

"I won't," Sara said calmly, "But what I am going to chase is the definition of 'discipline'."

Nick's smile vanished, and the expression on his face was just as stony as Sara's.

**

* * *

A/N:** Shortish chapter this time. Longer next time. And full of action and adventure and EVIL! Mua ha ha!  
Wish me luck with the stupid year eleven stuff. 


	6. Issues With Roaches

**Disclaimer**: CSI belongs to CSI-people.

* * *

Warrick watched the small screen. The view shook and bounced as Valerie crawled through the space under the house. He picked up the two-way radio. 

"Can you hear me?" He asked.

"Loud and clear," Val answered back. "How's the view from up there?"

Warrick grinned. "Well, I see a lot of dirt. Not a lot else."

"Yeah?" Val grunted, "Well, that's about all there is in here." She hauled herself through the tunnel, inch by inch. "Whoever was in here had to skinnier than I am. I fit, but it's a tight squeeze."

Warrick paused a moment before speaking again. "Are you okay?"

"Like I said, I'm fine."

"What about what that supermodel said to you?"

There was a significant pause. The view on the small screen was still. Finally, Val answered. "Yeah. I'm fine. I guess."

"Are you sure?" Warrick asked, "You stomped out of there pretty mad."

"I'm a delicate person, okay? But I'm fine now." She cleared her throat, and the camera view started moving again. "Let's just focus on the case, alright?"

Warrick watched the screen as Val manoeuvred through the tight dirt tunnel under the house, pulling herself forward with her arms. Something came into view in the darkness. Valerie focused the beam from her helmet in its direction.

Warrick squinted at the screen. "What the hell is that?"

"Big Mac?" Val crawled closer, and coughed. "Half-eaten… and it reeks. Could be weeks old." She paused, coughed again, then asked, "You haven't seen Super Size Me, have you? Coz this looks like the 'after' shot of the…"

"I don't wanna know." Warrick interrupted. "But bag it. There might be some DNA or something on it."

"Gross," Val snorted, picking up the burger from a distance, "I pity the one who has to analyse this."

"That would be Greg."

Val snorted, laughing, then started crawling forward again. The torchlight hit bare dirt walls and illuminated the thin curving tunnel. The walls were smoothed, as though whoever had used this tunnel had gone back and forth inside it often.

After some time, Val stopped crawling. "What kind of foundations are these?" She asked, incredulous, "Is this even legal?"

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Well, I don't know much about buildings," Val said, casting her eyes - and the camera around, "But when the foundations are laid down, shouldn't they be flat on the concrete? This house's been set up so there's concrete, then about three feet of dirt, then the house."

"How does that work?"

"I dunno… wait, here's a pillar." She crawled towards the dirt wall and brushed away some of the dirt with her hands. Red bricks and white mortar patterns showed through. "Wow. This house was just begging to be dug under!"

"What do you mean?"

Val tapped the brick supports with a knuckle. "The foundations are solid, the pillars keep the house up… but if you dig around them, in all the dirt, the house will stay upright, and no-one will ever notice."

Warrick frowned, taking in that information for a moment. "How would someone find out something like that?"

"I have no idea." Suddenly, the camera went black, and Valerie yelped.

"Val!" Warrick gripped the radio hard, and leaned towards the screen, trying to make out an image. "What? Valerie, what happened?"

She gave a whimper. The image on the screen remained blank.

"Valerie? Valerie!"

Her voice sounded like Miss Piggy's would if the Muppet had decided to take up crack. "It's looking at me…!"

Warrick frowned, confused. "What is?"

She whimpered again, and her answer was barely audible. "A cockroach."

Warrick blinked, then sighed. _A cockroach?_ "… It's probably just after the burger."

"Make it go away…"

"You told me you had no fear."

"Of enclosed spaces, yes! Cockroaches freak me out, OKAY?!"

Warrick winced at the pitch of Val's panicked squeal. He tried to calm her down. "Ok, ok. Just take a deep breath…"

"It's moving!" The camera screen shook - a flash of dirt wall. The helmet had fallen off her head, and the camera was resting against the floor. "It's moving towards me!"

"Val…" Warrick sighed.

"He's stopping…" She gave the Muppet-whimper again. The view on the screen wobbled.

"Val!" If calm wasn't working… "If you're so freaked out by a roach, just bag it and I'll release it later."

Suddenly, she gave a big sigh of relief. "No, it's okay. He just crawled into a hole. It's ok… I'm okay…" She sighed, then laughed nervously as she picked up the helmet and put it back on her head.

Warrick shook his head, trying to bite back a smile. "Are you sure?" he asked gently.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Gone were all traces of Muppet-ism from her voice - she was back to normal and twice as businesslike. "Let's just get back to the case." She started scrabbling through the tunnels again. "Hello…" There was something in the dirt in front of Val. She picked it up and examined it. Darkly, she said "Someone's careless."

Warrick peered at the screen, trying to make out what Val had in her hands. "What you find?"

"Bloody guitar strings." Val said coolly. "The garrotte." She peered upward. In the roof of the tunnel was the trapdoor. With a grunt, Valerie pulled herself into a ball, then pushed up at the trapdoor.

Warrick got out of the van and headed back into Julia Westwood's home just in time to see Val emerging from under the rug. She pushed it open, as far back as she could get it. It doubled back the rug, opening on the rug's underside, preventing any dirt from getting on the snow-white carpet… hiding the murderer's entrance and exit.

Warrick knelt down in front of Valerie. She passed him the bag with the rotten burger… and the bag with the guitar strings. She brushed back a strand of her flame-red hair and looked up at him.

"So now what?"

Warrick hefted both bags up. "Process, process, process." He put the evidence bags down and offered her a hand-up.

"One thing I don't like about this," Val said, looking back down at the tunnel she had just crawled though, "That tunnel could have taken weeks, maybe months to dig. Julia didn't live in here for that long. Whoever came in here to murder Julia maybe wasn't looking to murder her."

"Or maybe he was," Warrick said darkly. Val turned, frowning. Warrick picked up the evidence again, then added, "Maybe whoever was doing the digging didn't care who was in here - maybe he just wanted to kill someone."

Valerie's frown deepened. "That makes no sense at all."

"Yeah," Warrick agreed, "Maybe it'll make more sense when we've analysed the evidence."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Grissom looked up at the knock on his door.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

Grissom nodded. "Take a seat, Valerie." She did so. Grissom folded his hands and watched her silently for a moment. Valerie smiled nervously back.

"How do you find Vegas so far?"

Val smiled, put a little at ease. "Oh, it's great. I love it. It's a great work environment, and the people here are terrific."

"I had a talk with your supervisor an hour ago."

Val continued to smile, but her eyes suddenly didn't seem to want to join in the activity. They seemed a little wary. "Really?"

Grissom pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose - they'd been slipping. "Valerie, I really appreciate you coming down here on such short notice, but if at any time you need to go back to Seattle…"

"No." Val interrupted, "Dr Grissom, there's no need for me to go back to Seattle in a hurry. None at all. I mean," she shrugged, trying to keep a pleasant face, "I came for a week, and I'll stay for a week. I hate leaving anything half-done. Just ask Cameron."

"Your supervisor did tell me of your stubborn persistence pertaining to any and all cases." Grissom nodded, "But he also told me other things."

Val went quiet.

Grissom looked at Valerie, analysing her like an insect specimen. But her blank face revealed nothing. Grissom sighed, then ploughed ahead. "Valerie, I am not going to judge you on your previous choices."

"I have no criminal record," Valerie said stiffly. "I have never been arrested, suspected, never been…" She trailed off at the expression on Grissom's face.

"But you have been victimised. Correct?"

Val paused, then hesitantly nodded. "Yes, sir."

Grissom sighed. "Why are you a CSI, Valerie? And why Seattle? Cameron filled me in on your current situation."

Valerie looked down at her hands, like a child forced to answer to a teacher for something she'd done wrong. "Seattle's my home, sir."

"But in all your years of travelling, you've never wanted to stay somewhere else?"

Valerie met his steely gaze. "Once or twice. But I always come back to Seattle." She looked down again. "Some ghosts won't die."

Grissom took off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. "But you're content to continue being a CSI."

"Of course." Valerie's posture straightened. "No other job I'd rather have." She paused a beat, then added, "Could we change the subject, please?"

Grissom sighed, then managed a smile. "Of course. How are you doing on your case right now?"

Val nodded, "pretty good, actually. Warrick is with Greg now, collecting the DNA samples we collected from the crime scene. We found out how the killer got in and out of the house undetected."

"How?" Grissom was intrigued, despite himself.

Valerie hesitated. "Am I allowed to discuss ongoing cases with you, or is that against some protocol?"

Grissom smiled at that. "Valerie, for this week, I'm your supervisor. I'm monitoring your progress."

Val smiled back. "In that case… the killer dug a tunnel under the house, and came up inside through a trapdoor."

"Dug a tunnel?"

Val nodded. "Something which took planning, patience, and a knowledge of the building's funky foundations."

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "And you found this out, how?"

"I crawled through the tunnel myself."

Grissom's eyes flickered above Valerie's head for a second, then back to her face. "Really?"

Val nodded, warming to her topic. "I figure our next step would be to find out if there are any hits for the killer's DNA in CODIS. Also, finding out the building's blueprints - and who might have access to them."

Grissom's eyes flickered above Valerie's head again. "Good."

Valerie frowned. "What? Is there someone behind me more interesting than what I'm telling you?"

Grissom looked back at Val. "When you crawled through the tunnel, what did you find?"

Valerie blinked, unused to the supervisor's eccentricity just yet. "A handful of guitar strings, which had been twisted into a garrotte."

"And…?"

"And a really festy burger."

Grissom smiled, as though he'd just come to the heart of the problem. Valerie's eyes became wary again. "What?"

Grissom motioned for Valerie to stand, which she did. Grissom also stood, and crossed around his desk. Valerie watched as he went over to a collection of random items in a box on one of the shelves and rummaged around.

"When you were crawling around under the house, did you notice if the soil was damp, moist?"

Valerie frowned, wondering where this was going. "Yeah, it was. And it was a little muddy near the entrance. I figured it was because it had rained the night before Julia Westwood's murder…"

"And how old was the burger?" He turned, holding in his hands an oversized pair of tweezers and a glass jar. The wariness in Val's eyes was replaced with something bordering on alarm.

"I don't know," She watched him as he advanced towards her, "But the meat wasn't green, so it couldn't have been very old. It just stank, is all."

"But still prime food for the _Periplaneta americana_."

Valerie froze. "The American cockroach."

Grissom paused, looking impressed. "You know bugs?"

"I know the scientific name of the thing because I have to know my enemy."

"Bugs are our friends."

Val looked at him. Her neck was tensing up. "You're an entomologist. That's your catchphrase. But please, I have a phobia of roaches, so if you could never EVER mention that name in my prescence…" She frowned, and looked at Grissom again. "Why did you mention it?"

"You have a friend." Grissom pointed at Val's head.

It was at that point where Val's heart-rate trebled and her entire body froze up. Her voice rose to Miss Piggy pitch again. "_Its. In. My. Hair?!_"

"Don't worry," Grissom said, poking the tweezers into Valerie's hair, "It's not going to hurt you. _P. americana_ is an omnivorous and opportunistic scavenger. He was probably just after the burger when you startled him. While you were in the tunnel, he probably crawled onto you, looking for its food source."

If it was possible for hackles to rise on a human, then Valerie's hackles rose. "_Its. In. My. Hair?!_"

Grissom continued to give Valerie the life story of the cockroach. "Usually they're found in moist shady areas in yards, hollow trees, wood piles, and the like; or in the commercial area, sewers, drainage systems, steam tunnels, or anywhere where there's abundant food, moisture, and lots of dark places to hide. This one probably came indoors because of the rain… and because of the food."

"Analyse it later." The red-head hissed. "Just get it OUT of my HAIR!"

Grissom grabbed hold of the brown bug and pulled it slowly out of Val's hair. The cockroach's legs caught on strands of hair, and refused to let go. Val closed her eyes and whimpered and Grissom tried to pull the roach out of her hair without taking her hair with it. Eventually, the cockroach came free, and Grissom dropped it into the jar. He examined it, fascinated.

Valerie, her eyes still squeezed tight, was so tense she was shaking. "Is it gone?" She whimpered.

Grissom held the jar up to her face. "You want to see it?"

The first thing Valerie saw when she opened her eyes was the roach. She screamed, turned, and belted down the corridors.

"YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK-YUCK!!!" She vanished down the far corridor, still screaming. The entire lab stopped its activity to turn, watch, turn to each other, raise eyebrows… then get back to work.

Grissom stared, somehow mystified by Valerie's reaction. The cockroach waved its antenna gratefully at him.

**

* * *

A/N: **Miss Piggy on crack is actually what I sound like when I see a spider. I'm an arachnophobe. Someone suggested it would be a good idea to make Val sound like that. Try it sometime. Again, apologies to the people who like their CSI raw. I'm throwing in an OC. Please bear with. 


	7. A Tad Too Serious

**Disclaimer**: CSI rocks.

* * *

Marcus Vincent sat at the table, glowering mutinously at the one-way mirror, not knowing who was on the other side. 

Sara looked sideways at Jackie. The girl was clutching her stuffed bear to her tightly, her eyes wide. She was jiggling about nervously, unable to stay still, and kept chewing at her lip.

"He can't see you, Jackie," Sara said, trying to calm the girl down. "And he can't hear you." The girl just whimpered, and her thumb crept into her mouth.

Jackie and Sara watched as Nick entered the interrogation room, followed by a silent, stoic Brass. The CSI smiled amicably; the manager scowled. Brass just stood back and watched.

"Just how long is this going to take?" Marcus asked in his nasal voice, "I would like to get back to work, you know. We have to rewrite the whole show now that Tina's gone."

"I'm so glad you're worried about her safety, Mr Vincent," Nick said politely, keeping a smile on his face. "I apologise for taking up your time."

"Damn right you're taking up my time!" Marcus roared, slamming his fists on the table.

"I understand you're frustrated, sir," Nick said, trying to sound sympathetic, "I'd be pretty pissed off if my girlfriend walked out on me too."

Marcus's neck turned bright red - anger, not humiliation. "I was not having a relationship with Tina!"

Nick held up his hands. "I know, I know, but the point is you need her for the show, right?"

Marcus said nothing, only watched Nick warily.

"I mean," Nick continued, "All of your models have different… measurements." He cleared his throat, then continued. "All of them have their own set of clothes to model. All of them have a different role. You lose one, everything else gets thrown out of whack. Right?"

Marcus nodded, but still said nothing.

"Besides," Nick flipped through a pile of papers, "Six is your lucky number. You've been in the business six years. You got sponsorships from six different clothing companies for the six models working for you…"

Brass broke in, "And you had six bags of cocaine in your trailer."

Marcus sucked in breath, outraged. "You were in my trailer!"

Nick stared the man down. "You had 1200 grams of coke in your trailer."

Marcus sat back in his chair and glowered. "Yeah, and?"

Nick smiled. "We're going to need your DNA and fingerprints."

Marcus smirked. "And what if I don't wanna give 'em?"

Nick slid a paper across the table. "Then I'd tell you that this warrant says you have to."

"What are they doing?" Jackie whispered to Sara.

Sara smiled back. "If we can match the fingerprints we found on the bags of cocaine in Marcus' trailer to Marcus, then we have enough to convict him of possession."

Jackie turned to Sara and stared. "Co… cocaine?" She blinked. "You mean, the sugar?" She hugged her bear tighter, suddenly realising something. "I'm not supposed to talk about that."

"It doesn't seem like I have a choice." Marcus said. He held his hands, palm up, to Nick. "Take what you want. As long as I get them back." He smirked at his own bad joke.

"Not allowed to talk about it?" Sara tried to make Jackie look her in the eye. "What do you mean?"

"I get in trouble," the model whispered.

"Trouble?" Sara's tone darkened. "What do you mean?"

But Jackie hugged her bear tighter and didn't say anything. Sara remembered what Grissom had told her about Jackie. Trauma. Dealing with issues by running from them. Fear of associating with any other time period than the one where she feels safe.

A dark suspicion started to grow in Sara's mind.

Nick thanked the manager, then packed away the ink and the samples. "So… could you explain why there was cocaine in your trailer?"

For a moment, Marcus looked like he was about to put up a fight, then he sighed and shrugged. "Ok, ok. I'll admit it. I have… I have a drug problem." The man looked repentant. "I've been stuck with it for years. I just can't seem to kick the habit." The man buried his head in his hands. "It started…" He snorted at the irony, "Six years ago. 'Round about the time I started managing supermodels of my own. I used to work for this guy, Jock Jones. I'm serious, that was his name. Anyway, I was his runner. I'd pick this up, put that over there, get him his donuts and coffee… then I was his social secretary, then his right-hand man. He taught me everything I needed to know about this business." Marcus looked very sobered. "It's a cutthroat business, let me tell you."

Sara wasn't buying a word of this sob-story. But Nick had to keep smiling, nodding, keep him talking. It was hard to tell what the Texan was thinking. Brass just stood back, his arms folded.

"Anyway," Marcus continued, "Jock figured it was time to let me in on his real trade secret." Marcus looked suddenly ashamed. "It's not all fashion shows - it's the little deals on the side."

"Deals on the side?"

"Yeah," Marcus nodded, "I got legit sponsors for the girls… and other sponsors to keep me ahead of the competition. As in, I ship their packages, I stay ahead… and I can keep some of the profits for myself."

"So, let me get this straight," Brass said, coming forward, "You manage the girls, get them their gigs, but at the same time, traffic drugs to and from underground sources."

Marcus winced, but nodded.

"And in return…"

"They keep feeding my drug habit." Marcus sighed. "It's like an endless cycle. It was Jock who first got me hooked, and who put me in this scam. The money's good. Really good. And it doesn't affect the girls at all. But once you're in, you're in. No getting out. You catch my drift?"

Brass smiled coldly. "I'm catching it, Mr Vincent."

Jackie sang softly to herself, and started rocking back and forth. Sara looked over at the girl. She couldn't be much older than Sara was, but she acted like a child. Jackie swayed back and forth, still singing… Her hair fell forward, and Sara's eyes widened. "Jackie?"

The girl looked up at Sara at the mention of her name.

"Jackie," Sara pointed to the girl's shoulder blade, bare in the harsh glare of the light, "Who did that to you?"

Jackie hugged her bear tighter and whimpered. She shook her head, and her hair slid down over her back again. "I'll get in trouble again… I can't tell you…"

"I do have one question, though," Brass straddled a chair and folded his hands on the table, "Why are you telling us about the drugs? I mean, not that this isn't a wonderful confession or anything, but usually it takes a whole lot of evidence and a tiny bit of pressure to make someone talk."

Marcus squirmed. "I'd rather get it out in the open, you know? I'm addicted to drugs - I'm ashamed to admit it, but you have to know what I do." The man frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then added, "Course, I can't name names coz there're some people out there who don't like that kind of thing and would cut certain deal short if I…"

The door burst open and Sara screamed. "You sick sonuvabitch!" Nick, Marcus, and Brass all jumped, startled. Sara's eyes were flaming with anger. "You heartless bastard!"

Brass was on his feet in a second. "Sara, Sara, could you take this outside?" He put himself between her and the manager, who was staring at Sara like he'd never seen her before.

Sara tried to push past the detective. She stabbed a finger in his direction, as though it were a knife. "Small wonder you were coming clean about the drugs!" Brass had to physically push Sara out of the room.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Sara!" Brass barked, the usually stoic detective losing his temper.

"Have you seen Jackie yet?" Sara barked right back at him.

When Brass shook his head, Sara flung a hand back to where she'd come from. "Then maybe you should!"

"Some other time, Sara," Brass said icily, "Like, maybe, after you've gotten a handle on your temper." He turned to go back into the interrogation room.

"Fine," Sara snapped, "But make sure you ask him why he chooses to treat his 'merchandise' like punching bags!"

"What?"

Sara scowled, and put up her hands in mock-defeat. "But, hey, I'm just getting all emotional because a woman in another room acts like a little kid. And you know why she's acting like a little kid? Because some bastard's idea of discipline is to beat the crap out of her!" She turned and stormed off, fuming.

Brass watched the CSI vanish down the corridors, then slowly stepped back into the interrogation room.

He smiled apologetically at Marcus. "I'm sorry about that. Ms Sidle will be dealt with later." He gave Nick a questioning look - _what the hell was that about_?

Nick gave back an almost imperceptible shrug before turning back to the agent. "Mister Vincent…"

"That bitch better not be running her mouth off about me like that," the man said darkly, "She has no idea what she's talking about."

"Really?" Brass said, smiling, "So what was she talking about? You wanna clear that up for us?"

Marcus scowled and crossed his arms - the easy part of the interrogation was over. "Clear what up? That cow's crazy."

Nick was barely able to keep his understanding smile in place. _What about Sara having potential? What about Sara replacing Tina? Now she's just another 'bitch'?_

"And if she thinks I have something to do with Tina's disappearance, there's something seriously wrong with her."

"Do explain," Brass said, slowly letting his hardened 'cop' persona take over. "Tina worked for you. Aside from the other girls, you were the only person she could have had contact with. You were, in essence, her boss. So, Marcus, what is this? An elaborate scam to get hush money from a Vegas casino? Some kind of insurance fraud? Where exactly is Ms Evelyn, hmm? And what is with the silent act we're getting from the other supermodels?" He slammed both hands on the table. "Care to answer that, Mister Vincent?"

Marcus rose from his seat until he was eye-level with Brass and stabbed a finger in the man's face. "I'm their agent and their manager. I get the girls their gigs. I keep them in business and give 'em a shot at the big-time. And if you think I'm running some kind of scam-"

"You seemed to admit to one five minutes ago," Brass barked, "What with the drug ring and all."

Marcus snorted derisively. "Y'know, I don't gotta take this. I tried to help you people." He tossed three business cards on the table. "Pick one. They're all good friends of mine. Talk to them before you talk to me." He grabbed his jacket coat from off the back of the chair. "I'm outta here, and I'm taking what's left of my fashion show with me."

"I don't think so," Nick said calmly. Marcus turned to stare.

"What!"

Nick smiled, "Y'see, the supermodels are staying here. You may have come clean about the drugs, Mr Vincent, but there's no telling what else you've been hiding. Besides, you've broken some serious laws regarding…"

"Screw this." Marcus stomped out and slammed the door.

"Pleasant fellow," Brass commented dryly.

Nick nodded, then also rose. "I'm going to take this," He waved the sheet of Marcus Vincent's fingerprints, "To Jacquie. She'll be only too happy to help us get this guy."

Brass frowned. "Nick, the guy admitted to the drugs being his."

Nick shrugged. "Just being thorough."

Brass paused a moment, thoughtful, then said, "Well, I know you science types are getting more and more thorough, and that's good. Compare the fingerprints so that the lawyers can't chew us up over that. But personally, I think Marcus is _still_ hiding something."

Nick remembered Sara's accusations. "Like what?"

Brass smiled. "I don't know. Why don't we ask the next model on the list?"

-

"… And she just ran past, screaming."

Warrick shook his head. "I just can't see that happening, bro."

"I heard from Mandy who heard from Archie who heard from Bobby that she was freaking out because of Grissom's tarantula." Greg nodded, with all seriousness.

Warrick snorted, unable to keep himself from laughing. "Val is not afraid of spiders, Greg."

"Really?" Greg grinned. "Then what is she afraid of?" He reached for a notebook.

Warrick shook his head. "Put that pencil down. I'm not telling you anything."

Greg tossed the pencil aside and moved the pad of paper out of reach. "I won't write it down. Scout's Honour!"

"Sure, picture that."

There was a knock on the glass doors, and Val admitted herself. She looked calm and under control. "Hello Greg. Hey Warrick." She smiled at the labrat. "Are our results in yet?"

Warrick looked aside and coughed into his hand, trying not to laugh. Greg frowned, concerned.

"Are you okay?"

"I am perfectly fine. Why?"

Greg grinned. "Spider."

"What?" She frowned. "What about spiders?"

Greg looked crestfallen, then reached for the notebook and scribbled something in it.

Warrick turned to Val. "I heard you had a freak-out."

Val smiled. "I don't like cockroaches, Warrick. I really don't."

Greg looked up, a gleam in his eyes like he'd just struck gold. He scribbled something else down in his notebook.

"I talked to Jacquie," Warrick said, ignoring Greg, "All of the fingerprints, even the partials, came back Julia. But the killer left his DNA everywhere."

Valerie snorted. "How stupid can the guy get?"

"Stupid?" Warrick tilted his head, "Or arrogant?"

Val's lips pursed in disgust. "Maybe both." She sighed, then added, "So the results from the DNA will help us find the killer." She turned and looked pointedly at Greg. A moment passed. Warrick coughed.

"Greg?"

"Mm-hmm?" Greg said, distracted.

"Greg," Val said calmly, "The DNA results?"

Greg put down the notebook and pencil and went over to the printer. "Yeah," he said, sobering, "About that." He looked from Warrick to Val and back again. "Well, those samples you brought in? All of them matched either the victim or the attacker."

Val nodded. Warrick frowned - it wasn't like Greg to be so serious.

The labrat continued, "Swab from the carpet? Attacker semen." He read from the piece of paper. "Condom in the bathroom? Attacker semen. Blood from the guitar strings? Julia Westwood, victim."

"What about epitheliales on the strings?" Warrick asked, "I mean, if the guy used them as a garrotte…"

Greg shrugged. "All I found on the strings was Julia's skin. And a fibre, which I sent to trace. Cotton fibre, white. No good at all. White cotton fibres are everywhere."

"The killer wore gloves," Val closed her eyes and sighed, disgusted. "And he cleaned the guitar he took the strings off. He cleaned up his fingerprints."

"Yeah, well," Greg's face was rueful, "That's not your only bad news." Greg took a deep breath, then continued, "You wanted me to compare the DNA results to look for a prior? I did. And this," he pointed to the paper, "Is what I found." He sat down. "The least I can do is give you good news and tell you we got a match." He held out the paper to Val.

She took it from him and quickly scanned it. After a moment, she spoke. "Five matches," she said softly. "All to one guy."

"Five different cases," Greg verified. "All of them unsolved. Looks like you guys are after a serial."

"And he's never been caught." Warrick's jaw tightened.

"Wish I could help you," Greg shrugged. "But if there's no record of this guy's DNA anywhere except on unsolved case files, then you've got a lot of work to do."

Warrick held a hand out to Val. "May I?" Val passed the paper to Warrick, and he looked over the list. "Well, this guy's been working in Vegas, so that narrows the filed down a bit. I guess we'll have to look through the old case files, see if we can find out if we can catch him."

Val nodded, her face set. "Good idea," she said, her voice devoid of any emotion. She nodded at the labrat. "Thanks, Greg."

"No problem," Greg nodded in return, then got back to work. "And good luck."

"We'll need it," Warrick called back, as he and Val headed down the lab corridors. Val didn't even turn around.

* * *

**A/N**: Did I hear you right, Nerwen? '_Replace Sophia with Val_'? Aww, I feel all special. Such a shame OC fics don't get the recognition they deserve. Well, after Val's gone, it'll all be GSR… I guess. I dunno. We'll see :P. I'll update sooner if you sprinkle nice reviews all over my fic! 


	8. Telling All

**Disclaimer**: CSI no belong to ICRep.

**A/N**: ICRep Fanfiction: Now with added GSR! Whee!

* * *

Grissom walked through the corridors of the police station, his head down, a folder under one arm. He was puzzling through what he knew of the case so far. 

Tina Evelyn was missing. Marcus Vincent had admitted to the drugs being his, and had admitted to having a drug problem. But the manager's admission was the only half-decent piece of information anyone had gotten from the group. The models were still being uncooperative. Aside from snide comments about each others' deficiencies and character traits, all but two of the models weren't talking. The other two hadn't been interviewed yet - Tina's roommates, Dana and Jackie.

And Grissom was on his way to interview Dana now.

He looked up and saw Sara waiting for him. She stood up as she saw him approach.

"Hey, Grissom."

Grissom frowned. "Sara, what are you doing here?"

She met his gaze, her own expression blank. "I'm part of this case, aren't I?"

Grissom sighed. "After your outburst," he said gently, "I'm not so sure."

Sara stared at him. "What outburst?"

Grissom shook his head and steered Sara out of the way of the officers patrolling the halls. "Your bursting into an interview with the manager, just as he's lawyering up…"

"He doesn't care a damn thing about Tina missing," Sara cut in, almost scowling, "And you know it. He was coming out into the open about the drugs, but that's it. And if you talk to him, you'll see. He's not going to say anything about why Tina is gone."

"Of course not," Grissom said, calmly, "Because he'll be waiting for you to burst in an accuse him of…" he paused, and frowned, "Whatever it is you were shouting at him."

"Have you talked to Jackie yet?" Sara said, her voice icy. Grissom shook his head. Sara smiled a smile just as cold as her voice. "Then maybe you should ask her why she's got these bruises all over her."

Grissom frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about what that scum-bag weasel is doing to those girls!" Sara snapped. Grissom motioned for her to lower her voice. She did so, and spoke in a hiss. "Maybe instead of figuring out _where_ Tina is gone, maybe you should look at _why_."

"Sara," Grissom began, "Maybe it would be better if you weren't on this case."

"Why?" Sara said, her voice rising again, "Because I'm getting 'involved'?" She shook her head. "Catherine gets 'involved' whenever there's a case with a young kid. Warrick gets 'involved' whenever someone he knows is in trouble. You get 'involved' whenever…"

"Sara, that's enough!" Grissom frowned at her. "What's gotten into you?"

"You know what I think?" She said, ignoring the question, "I think Tina ran away because she was tired of being beat up by her manager." Grissom's face went stony, and he said nothing. Sara looked down and away, sensing she'd gone too far. "I'm off the case, aren't I?"

Grissom sighed and put a hand on her shoulder. "Listen, Sara, if something's bothering you, you should tell someone."

Sara just shrugged, but not so severely that she would dislodge Grissom's hand. "I'm fine. Really, I am. I just want to see justice done. That's all."

Grissom nodded, seeming to understand, then he turned and opened the door to the interrogation room. He motioned for Sara to follow him. Sara smiled for the first time in a long time.

"I was wondering when you'd get to talk to me," a model with blonde hair looked up at Sara and Grissom. "Just for the record, I'm glad you brought me here."

"Why's that?" Grissom asked, as he and Sara sat down.

The model smiled delicately, but her eyes were dark and unreadable. "Because Marcus would have killed me if I told you what I want to tell you now."

Sara sucked in breath sharply. The model looked at her.

"I guess you saw Jackie, huh?" The girl stood up, and slid her jacket off one arm. An ugly yellow bruise covered most of her shoulder. "Yeah. Jackie's got a few battlescars. Me too." She sat down again. "If I tried to talk to you at Caesar's, I wouldn't be walking for a while." She rolled her eyes and scoffed. "At least, until the three days were up. Then I'd have to walk. Or I'd be in worse shape."

Grissom and Sara exchanged glances.

"But let's start at the beginning," Dana said calmly. "You ask questions, I'll answer."

Grissom collected himself, and opened the folder. "Your name is Dana McCormick, and you've worked with Marcus for four years. Correct?"

"Yeah." Dana nodded. "And if you've got my file there, you'll know where I went to college, my birthday, my height, my weight, and my measurements." She smiled. "My whole life on paper. No secrets from scientists."

Sara cleared her throat. "You were Tina's friend, and you shared a trailer with her. Could you tell us about her?"

Dana smiled. "Be glad to. Tina was smart, she was pretty, and she had her whole life in front of her."

"Was?" Grissom frowned. "You mean, she doesn't now?"

Dana's smile faded, and she looked down. "Working for Marcus… It was the greatest mistake either of us ever made." She looked up at Sara and Grissom, her eyes burning. "Like most every other girl in this country, I wanted to be an actress. And one way of becoming one was to get 'discovered' in the fashion industry. At least, that was the theory." She traced a circle on the table with her finger. "I met Tina when she was modelling for Marcus. We became close friends, all three of us: Tina, Jackie and I." She smiled wryly. "I guess by now, you've heard that we're the Blondes."

"I've heard," Sara said, not wanting to interrupt.

"Well, like I said before," Dana continued, "Tina had her life in front of her. But Marcus exploited her. He beat her down, not just physically, but mentally. He broke that girl's spirit til she was nothing but a pretty-looking shell."

"He abused her?" Sara practically leapt forward.

Dana looked faintly amused. "You didn't work that out from the badge of courage I'm wearing? Yeah, he abused her. Tina more than me or Jackie."

"Why?"

"Marcus Vincent doesn't need a reason for anything he does," Dana scoffed. "Whether he's on drugs or whether he's in a bad mood, he takes it out of our hides." Dana looked up at Grissom, who hadn't batted an eyelid. "You're agreeing with her," she motioned to Sara, "Marcus is a jerk who doesn't deserve to live. So why aren't you saying anything?"

Sara turned to look at Grissom. But Grissom kept a straight face.

The supermodel shrugged again. "Ah, never mind. You need more evidence than just bruises to convince you." She frowned. "How about blood? You guys saw that, right?"

"Blood? On the catwalk?" Sara exchanged another glance with Grissom. "Whose is it?"

"Tina's," the model said simply. She met Sara's gaze evenly. "She gained a quarter of a pound when we were travelling. Marcus didn't like that."

Sara swore. Grissom looked over at Sara, shocked by her language.

"It sounds to me like you're investigating two cases at once," Dana commented. "Tina's disappearance and Marcus' behaviour." She looked up at the glass wall. "There's no-one behind there, right?"

"No-one," Grissom assured the model.

Dana nodded. "Well, good, coz I'm about to spill the dirt on the whole operation."

Sara and Grissom stared. Dana took a deep breath and began.

"Marcus was hooked since the beginning. He's always been a crack-head. I don't know what he told you, but he got the habit from his former boss, Jock Jones. When Marcus set up his own fashion show, he brought the drugs with him. The Bitches - Ayumi, Sam and Monica - they're all in it too. He hasn't trapped us Blondes yet, and he wont - ever. So he controls us by force. And we can't get out because of contracts… and because of _his_ underground contacts. We're not safe in or out." She paused, and looked to Grissom and Sara. "That's it in a nutshell. Any questions?"

There was a long pause. Grissom closed the folder and folded his hands over it. "How do you know this, Ms McCormick?"

"I see a lot of things." Dana shrugged, "I'm always there. I people-watch." She nodded at Grissom, seeing his miniscule smile. "You too? Figures. You're a scientist." Dana sighed, then got back on topic. "You wouldn't believe the things I've seen. But yeah, I knew Marc was into drugs. We all knew." Dana looked down at her fingernails. "He's got the Bitches on crack too, but they'll deny it. He's been trying to get all of us girls hooked." She looked bitter. "Easier for him to control us. I guess that's why…" But the woman shrugged. "Ah, what does it matter? Until we get picked up by the big time, we're stuck here with a two-bit con-man who uses other people's looks to rake in the dough."

"Why haven't you told anyone?" Sara asked, "Police, family..."

"Because I don't have anyone." Dana said simply, her face blank. "My family's gone, and I'm just trying to take care of myself." She snorted. "I'm doing a great job, aren't I. And I can't call the police either - believe me, I've tried. They can't help." She looked down again. "Personally, I think Tina stuck around for far too long." She sighed, then looked up, smiling with a memory. "She was a great girl. A real Southern Belle. But to Marcus, she'd be nothing more than the farmer's daughter for the rest of her life - even though she's the only one of us who's a Vegas local." She shook her head.

Grissom bit his lip, thoughtful, then asked, "Your locker was the only one in the trailer we couldn't open. With your permission, could we look inside?"

Dana nodded, "Sure. The key's inside Jackie's locker, in Zeus the Moose's left antler."

"Zeus the Moose?"

Dana grinned. "One of her Beanie Babies." She smiled conspiratorially. "But I'm not the only one who trusts stuff with Jackie, if you know what I mean."

"Should we talk to her?" Sara asked.

Dana shook her head. "I don't think that would be a good idea. I mean, Jackie is a great girl and everything but… she has the mental capacity of a ten-year-old. She doesn't want to remember anything. She won't be much help in your investigation."

"We'll still talk to her," Grissom said, "You never know who might know something."

Dana smiled at him. "Of course." Her smile faded a little, and she continued, "I don't know what you're expecting to find in my locker, but let me just say that Tina kept some of her more important things in there. Photos and stuff that she didn't want the Bitches to steal. And in return, she let me keep my books in her locker." She smiled sheepishly. "Not all of them fit in mine."

"Those were your books?" Grissom raised an eyebrow.

Dana smiled back sweetly. "If you want to borrow them, all you have to do is ask."

"What about other possessions?"

Dana shrugged. "Yeah, I keep some of my things in her locker. Things I don't mind getting stolen. Makeup and stuff." Grissom frowned. Makeup, sanitary items, and books were all he found in Tina's locker. Perhaps some things were missing.

"So Tina knew where the key to your locker was," Sara said, "Would anyone else?"

"Just us three Blondes." Dana said darkly. "Some things shouldn't be common knowledge." She smirked. "Like Mon's snack habits, Sam's allergies, and Marcus's fear of the dark." She put on a pious expression.

"You seem to have a lot of knowledge yourself," Grissom said. "Aside from people-watching, how is it that you know so much?"

Dana hid a smile. "You wouldn't believe what people say around me. They think I'm deaf or something, just because I'm blonde. But of course," Dana sat back, looking a trifle smug, "No-one cares much what I think anyway. After all, I am Canadian."

The model smiled indulgently as Grissom and Sara exchanged raised eyebrows.

"Well, thankyou for your time, Ms McCormick."

Dana shrugged and stood. "Anytime. And if you have any other questions, feel free to ask. As long as Marcus isn't around, I'd be happy to help you guys put him behind bars." The officer escorted her out, and, after a few moments of silence, Grissom also stood, and made for the door.

"We need to get this bastard." Sara said softly, staring at the opposite wall. "We need to get him for what he's doing to these girls." Grissom turned back from the door and frowned at Sara.

"Sara," he started, awkwardly, then plunged in, "Why do you react this way every time there's a case where some young woman gets abused?"

Sara eyes grew distant, but remained focused on the wall, as though she were looking at something else. A different place, a different time, that only Sara could see.

"Sara?"

For a moment, Sara slumped. She opened her mouth, trying for form words. But then, as Grissom watched, the wall she had pulled down for a moment was put back up, brick by brick, until Sara was just Sara - a CSI with a blank face and dedicated to her job. She straightened her posture and turned to face her boss.

"No reason." She rose to her feet and stepped out. Grissom sighed, then followed behind her.

-

Warrick and Val poured over the case files, looking through each case one at a time. Both CSI's were sifting through evidence bags and files from the final case. A whiteboard had been wheeled into the layout room, and brief notes about the cases were written in quick shorthand.

Val sighed, put down another bag of evidence, and made another note on the board. Victim's name, cause of death, and now, the murder weapon.

"I don't believe this," Val muttered, "This could take forever." She capped the whiteboard marker savagely. "No link between victims, different murder weapons each time. But it's the same guy - the DNA doesn't lie."

"Take a chill pill, Val," Warrick said, briefly looking up from the piles of papers on the table, "They'll be something."

Val sighed, then took a deep breath and read out what she'd written. "Hattie Birch, 67, lived alone. Beaten to death with a brass lamp. Jeffery Pine, 23, lived with his room-mate Sid Knight, who was out at the time of Jeff's murder. Jeff was drowned in his fish tank." She frowned, again, at that, then continued, "Freddie Palmer, 43, lived alone, forced to swallow rat-poison. Karen and Penny Kirkwood, 17 and 21, sisters. Raped, then killed with fire pokers. Henry Woodworth, 33, divorced and living alone, shot with his hunting rifle which he kept in den. And finally, Julia Westwood, 23, lived alone, raped then garrotted with guitar strings." Val stood back and frowned. "I don't see any connection between any of these people."

"Aside from all the murder weapons being weapons of opportunity, I don't think there is." Warrick packed away the evidence, then stared at the board as well.

Val tilted her head and murmured the names under her breath. A second later, her eyes widened. "I think I may have found something."

"What?"

"Birch, Pine, Palmer, Kirkwood, Woodworth, Westwood." She turned to Warrick. "Names of trees and types of wood."

Warrick raised an eyebrow. "You think this guy's killing people just because they have names that have something to do with trees?"

"Who do you think's next?" She grinned, raising an eyebrow.

Warrick rolled his eyes. "Catherine Willows." He replied, in the same joking tone of voice.

"Well, aren't we lucky she's not here." Val said, then shrugged. "It was just a thought. There's probably no link at all." She sighed, and turned back to the board.

"Weapons of opportunity." Warrick wondered aloud. "All houses showed no sign of forced entry."

"Digging under the house can do that." Val said darkly.

"You think all of them were dug under?" Warrick looked at his own notes.

Val looked over at Warrick and frowned. "Well, why not? There might not be another link." She sighed. "But I doubt there's a '_was there a suspicious tunnel under the house?_' section in police forms, so it may have gone unnoticed." She put a hand to her chin and frowned. "But I guess it could be possible…"

Detective Vega walked in, a manila folder in his hand, "Hey guys, here's the blueprints you wanted." He handed them to Warrick, then smiled at Valerie. "I'm Detective Vega. Welcome to Vegas, Ms Wilks."

Val smiled up at the detective, "Thanks. And thanks."

"No problem." He smiled back, then the smile vanished as he became brisk and businesslike. "So, is it true you're looking at a serial killer?"

"DNA at every crime scene is from the same guy." Warrick affirmed.

"Word going around is that he digs under houses." Vega added.

Val nodded, a little dispirited. "Other than that, no leads. And he's not on file, aside from being anonymous." She took the blueprints from Warrick and started spreading them out on the layout table.

"Man, you guys are going to be at it for a while." Vega frowned sympathetically, then grinned. "I just hope he's not part of that secret society. I mean, they have enough trouble with the Mole Men in New York."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry too much," Warrick quipped. "All the lowlifes with zero social skills don't go underground here. They don't need to. This is Vegas."

"Warrick?" Val frowned, "Do you have the list of where the victims lived?" Warrick fished around in his notes, then gave the list he'd made to Val. The Seattleite took it, and scanned it. "Is there a map of the outer suburbs we could use, somewhere?" She said, her eyes smouldering. She'd found something.

"Not here," Warrick said, "But I could print one out. Why? What is it?"

Val pointed out the blueprints for the house of Julia Westwood. "This house was mass-produced by a construction company in the 90's for an area of outer suburbia." She held up the list of addresses. "Could all these victims have lived in the same area? Could they've all lived in the same kind of house?" She held up one of the blueprints. "This kind of house?"

Vega frowned. "You could be on to something there."

Val crossed her fingers. "Here's hoping. All we have is dead-ends so far." She stifled a sudden yawn with the back of her hand. "Sorry. Still used to working Days." She shook herself.

"You go take a break," Warrick said, taking the list from her. "I'll get started on this."

"Thanks." She headed for the break room, pausing only to wish Warrick good luck before she shut the door behind her.

Vega folded his arms as he scanned the notes Valerie had made on the whiteboard. "I remember some of these cases, Warrick. Not pretty. And no-one has any answers. If you nail the scumbag, kudos to you and Ms Wilks."

"We have to find out if our hunch is correct first," Warrick reminded the detective. But he didn't argue - he just headed for the computer and looked for a map of the area that would help them.

* * *

**A/N**: Lots of fluff everywhere. -wince- okay, okay, I will try not to kill anyone in the lab. … Yet. … I lub my fans, I hate my flamers, come on now, entertain us! Hit review, don't be shy, happy things make my life awri'!... okay, I suck at spontaneous poetry. Just review already. 


	9. No More Scars

**Disclaimer**: OC belongs to me, CSI to someone else.

**A/N**: People who actually like to hear about my OC can read the whole chapter - if OC's just plain annoy you, read the first half. The second half is just character-building. Many thanks to Nerwen and Tinuviel for this and the past couple of chapters.

This chapter is rated A for Angst. Or Aardvarks. Whatever.

* * *

Sara came into the break room and headed straight for the coffee. Silently, she prayed that Greg had forgotten his Blue Hawaiian in the coffee pot again. No such luck. Well, at least it wasn't bitter. 

"Hey Sara," Nick waved from one of the tables. He tossed back a handful of MnM's. "How was the interview with the McCormick model?"

"Enlightening." Sara said fishing around in the fridge for her sandwich. "She had a lot to say."

"Any idea where Tina Evelyn's at yet?" The Texan asked.

Sara shook her head. "Not yet. But Marcus is going away."

Nick frowned. "For the drugs? Sara, possession and dealing in crack isn't going to keep him behind bars for long… especially with his lawyers."

Sara sat down and started unwrapping her sandwich. Tuna."What about assault? Abuse?"

Nick tossed back the rest of the candies. "You're kidding? He actually did…" He shook his head. "Man, Sara, I owe you an apology. I thought you were crazy back there. He really did hit the models?"

"Yeah," Sara started eating. After a moment's silence, she looked over at Nick. He had a distant look on his face. Sara followed his gaze, and saw he was watching Warrick and Val sort though boxes of evidence in the layout room. Val brushed back her hair as she wrote something on the whiteboard, then frowned thoughtfully at it. Sara swallowed a mouthful of sandwich and barely hid a smile. "Penny for your thoughts?" She asked Nick.

"Hrm?" Nick looked over at Sara, distracted. "What?"

"Something on your mind?"

"No." Nick shook his head. "Nothing." He sipped at his own cup of coffee.

"Sounds more like _something_." Sara hinted, only just able to keep a straight face.

Nick took another sip of coffee, frowning thoughtfully, then asked, "Hey, Sara, you're…well, you're friends with Val, right?"

_Friends? Sorta_. "I guess so. Why?"

"Well, do you…" Nick tilted his head from side to side, as though unsure how to phrase his question. "Do you think she's seeing anyone?"

"So that's what this is about." Sara grinned and took another bite of her sandwich.

Nick frowned at Sara. "What is?"

Sara smiled. "You like Val, huh?"

"No, it's just I was just wondering." Nick shook his head and took another sip of his coffee.

Sara grinned again. "You always go after the new girls, don't you, Nick?"

Nick smiled patronisingly and tried to reassert himself. "No, I don't. And she's a temp, not a new girl."

"So," Sara tried her best to look innocuous, "The fact she's a red-head has nothing to do with the fact you want to ask her out?"

"Of course not." As soon as he'd said this, Nick's eyes widened. He realised he'd trapped himself. "Wait, that came out wrong." He winced at Sara's beaming smile.

"That's so sweet," Sara teased.

"Shut. Up." Nick threatened with pointed finger. "Not. A. Word."

"You know," She said conversationally, finishing off her coffee, "Going after the new girl is going to get you in trouble."

Nick grinned and turned the tables. "Hey, at least I'm not going after the boss."

Sara's smile froze and vanished. "I… you… who…" She regained control of her face long enough to look insulted. "Who told you that?" Nick just grinned. Sara glowered at him, furious. "That's my personal business, Nick, it has nothing to do with you."

Nick grinned, triumphant. "We're CSI's, Sara." He rose to his feet, empty coffee cup in one hand, MnM's wrapper in the other. He dumped both in the trash. "We notice everything."

Someone cleared their throat. "Well, not exactly _everything_."

Nick and Sara turned to see Grissom and Valerie standing in the doorway. He was blank-faced; she was grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

"Oh. Hi." Nick looked from his boss to the temp and back again. 'How long have you guys been standing there?"

"Oh, not long." Val said, still grinning, "Somewhere around the 'new girl' remark, I think." She shook her head, then motioned to Sara. "Could I talk to you for a minute?"

Sara gulped down the rest of her sandwich, then bolted out of the room.

Grissom watched the girls go, then turned back to Nick. "You done?"

Nick winced, clearly expecting a reprimand. "Yessir."

"Then you should get back to work." Grissom suggested. "See if Greg's done analysing the blood samples you gave him."

"Yessir."

"And Nick?"

Nick relaxed a little. "Yeah, boss?"

"Valerie is going back to Seattle in less than a week." Grissom's lips curved in the barest ghost of a smile. "I wouldn't get involved with her if I were you. You might never see her again."

"You see Sara everyday." Nick protested.

Grissom frowned, his smile instantly vanishing. "I'm not talking about Sara."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "No, but you heard what she said." He gave Grissom a very pointed look. "And I wasn't kidding about noticing things."

Grissom shook his head. "You need to be a little bit more observant sometimes, Nick." He turned and walked away, a folder under his arm like a bible under an exorcist's.

Nick shook his head sadly, then got back to work.

((**A/N**: Any comments about Grissom's lips will be looked upon with great tolerance (since I know some ppl lub Billeh) but a shake of the head will ensue.))

-

"Just what did you want to talk to me about, anyway?" Sara asked, as Val led the way through the corridors. Val looked sideways at her, then shrugged.

"I was just going to get something to eat, but I overheard you guys talking…" She peered around the corners of the lockers. The room was empty. Dark. Quiet. Val turned to face Sara.

"I screwed up."

Sara blinked. "Screwed up? What, in your case?"

Val winced and shook her head. "No, the case… it... It's fine. We're getting there." She sighed, then scuffed her toes on the linoleum. "I heard what you and Nick were saying. About me." She sighed, and looked to Sara, pleading. "Could you… Could you tell him I already have a boyfriend? Or something? Because I don't want to get involved… with him. With anyone."

Sara blinked again. "You're the one who gave him your phone number."

Val sat down and put her head in her hands. "I know. I know…" She sighed. "And it was stupid of me."

Sara sat down opposite Val. "What's wrong?"

Val sighed, as though resigning herself to something. "You know how you saw my scar, before?"

Sara nodded.

"Well," Val continued, uncomfortably, "I… They're constant reminders of a relationship gone bad, and…" She bit her lip, "I screwed up, okay? Badly. And I want to end things with Nick before they begin, so it doesn't happen again." She sighed and put her head in her hands once more.

Sara stared at Val. _A relationship gone bad?_ "What are you talking about?"

Val played with her watch - putting it off, putting it back on, fastening and refastening the catch - as she talked. "I've been a CSI for, what, nearly four years now? And I stuck to cases like a limpet. I got everything done. I focused on the case, on the evidence, on the science of it all. And that was it." She paused, awkwardly. "I'm a people-person by nature, Sara. But at the same time, I'm not good at getting to know people." She snorted. "Doesn't make much sense, really, but that's who I am."

"Val, listen, if you don't wanna talk about it…"

Val's head snapped up. Her voice cracked with desperation. "Look, I have to tell someone here!" Her voice softened. "I trust you, Sara. Please, I have to tell someone."

Sara nodded. "Okay."

Val took a breath and continued. "It was all science for me, in Seattle. All specimens and science. I had co-workers, but no-one I could talk to. Aside from my own family." Val paused a moment, readjusted her watch again. "But then… there was this guy… and he made me see that being a CSI didn't have to mean that I had to be a robot. He made see that… That I was worth something. That I didn't have to be afraid." She stopped fiddling with her watch. "You know what I'm talking about?"

_Someone who makes you feel special. Someone who keeps you coming back for more_. Sara nodded slowly.

Val sighed. "He was… different. I mean, I'd never met anyone who believed in the job like he did." A longer pause. "That's why it hurt so bad when… When…" Val's voice cracked, and she changed the subject. "You know, I shouldn't even be talking about this." She stood up. "We're still on shift. We should get back to work." She headed for the door.

"Valerie," Sara called out. "You're the one who wanted to talk about this."

Val stopped, turned back, and sat down again. "Sorry."

"Maybe you should just tell me how you got the scars."

Val squirmed, uncomfortable. "I don't really like talking about them."

"About what?"

Sara and Valerie turned to see Warrick standing in the doorway.

"Nothing." Sara said. "We were just having a girl-talk."

But Val was like a dam - she'd burst open, and there was no going back. She stood up. She rolled back her sleeves to her shoulders. She pulled up her shirt to reveal her navel. She pulled back a section of her long red hair from her forehead. Across her arms, on her stomach, and along her hairline, long white scars criss-crossed her skin. The scar on her stomach, however, was thicker, and dotted with marks where stitches had been. Sara and Warrick stared, horrified.

"My scars," Val said coolly, even though her voice was trembling. She dropped her hair and shirt, rolled her sleeves back down. "I'm a freakin' Frankenstein." She sat down and looked at her hands. "But you live and you learn, right?"

Warrick looked over at Sara, then down at Val. "I… I'm sorry, Val…"

"Why should you be sorry?" Val snorted. "You had nothing to do with it."

"What happened?" Sara asked, gently. She and Warrick both sat down.

Val's hands clenched into fists. "What's the hardest case you've ever done, guys?" Her voice trembled. Val sighed, took a deep breath, tried again. "What's the hardest case you've ever had to do?"

Warrick looked at Sara, then spoke gently, "A friend of mine, he'd help me grow up. He was a good man, and a great father. But some punk kid got a gun, stole a car, and did a drive-by. Sprayed his house with bullets. Killed his daughter." Warrick looked around. Misery loves company. "And I messed up. I picked some thief to be the killer when it wasn't. And Matt Phelps got put in jail 'cause of me."

Sara looked down at her feet. _Hardest case?_ "My hardest case was Liquid Man." She wrinkled her nose at the memory of it. "Some casino manager zipped up a homeless guy in a bag and dropped him off a cliff. After two months, all that was left of the homeless guy was a puddle of human ooze."

Warrick chuckled. "Yeah, and you stank after cleaning that mess up."

"Thanks." Sara gave him an icy look.

Val didn't say anything for a moment. Then, "My hardest case," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "Was back in Seattle. A drunk-driver had crashed his car into a tree. Killed instantly… with a bottle of beer jammed down his throat. They had to bury him with shards of glass still imbedded in his neck."

Sara and Warrick stared, horrified, but did not interrupt.

"The passenger, the driver's girlfriend, lived. They sent her off to hospital, connected her up to machines, stuck a drip in her arm, covered her broken limbs in plaster. But they told me she'd live." Val swallowed. "A few hours later, I watched her die. And there was nothing I could do."

Sara frowned. "CSI's aren't supposed to be at hospitals taking care of victims," she pointed out. "What were you doing there?"

"Oh," Val shrugged, "I wasn't a CSI at that time. I was a nurse." Val unclenched her hands - they shook. She clenched them again. "But after I watched that woman die, all I could ask was 'why?'. So many questions I couldn't answer but all starting with 'why'. I became a CSI so I could help people who had lost loved ones of their own get the answers to their own 'why's. Less than a year looking after people in white sterile rooms… watching the hope drain from people's faces… I couldn't do it anymore." Val shook her head. "So it was a CSI's life for me." She straightened a little. "And I'm damn proud of it."

"But how'd you get the scars?" Sara blurted, and then wished she hadn't.

But Val just took a deep breath and smiled unsteadily. "You know that guy I was talking about, Sara?" She didn't wait for Sara's response. "Well, we were working on a case together. A serial killer. And the police were securing a warehouse where he was thought to be hiding. The two of us, we got all gung-ho. To hell with protocols about clearing the scene - we've got guns. We can take care of ourselves." While she was talking, Val was absently rubbing the spot on her stomach where her scar was, through the cloth of her shirt. "So we went in." Val bowed her head. "We'd gotten the evidence. We knew this murderer's limits. We were safe…" She shook her head. "No, we didn't know a damn thing." She took a deep breath. "He came at me with a machete."

"A what?" Warrick stared.

"Machete," Val confirmed. "Ran me through," she pointed to her stomach, "Then sliced me up like a side of beef." Val looked up at Warrick and Sara, her grey-green eyes dull. "They got him, alright, but it was off to the hospital for me. On the way, I died. They brought me back with emergency blood transfusions and a whole lotta stiches, but my partner didn't know that. He thought I was dead. So he put a bullet through his brain."

Sara gasped. Warrick went pale.

"My hardest case? Staying a CSI." She looked stonily at the Vegas CSI's. "It's just science, specimens, and process for me now. I can't afford to let people come into the equation. That's the reason why I don't want Nick to try and start anything with me. Because he and I will both get hurt." She rose to her feet slowly. "Listen, I trust you guys, okay? So could you not tell anyone what I've just told you? Please?"

"Scout's honour," Warrick nodded. Sara nodded too, too shocked to say anything.

Val smiled faintly. "Thanks." She closed her eyes, took a long, deep breath, then smiled and looked up at Warrick. "I gather you came here to tell me something?"

Warrick nodded, still stunned. "Yeah. Umm, yeah. Your guess was right. All the houses where the serial killer operated were in the same area, using those 'mass-produced house' blueprints. A couple were even on the same street."

"Any hunches?" Val frowned.

Warrick blinked. "How can you just concentrate on a case after what you just… After what you…"

Val shrugged. "It's who I am. I deal. I get over it." She smiled apologetically. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry I told you my sob-story," She said, deriding herself. "Now you're going to be walking on eggshells when you're around me." She shrugged. "Just forget I said anything."

Warrick put a hand on Val's arm in sympathy. "You sure?"

Val smiled. "Of course." She smiled wider. "Come on, we're still shift. We'll all get fired if we're still hanging around here."

Warrick rolled his eyes and grinned in agreement. "Yeah, especially if Hodges catches us."

"Hodges?" Val raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like someone to avoid."

Warrick snorted with laughter. "Oh, yeah." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll meet you back in the layout room. Something I want to show you."

Val nodded. "Sure thing."

Sara waited until Warrick had gone before turning to Val. "Why don't you tell Nick what you told us?"

"Because he'd try and make me forget it, or something," Val said lightly. "I know his type. Knight in shining armour. Wants to make the world all warm and fuzzy." She shook her head. "Not going to happen."

"Why not?" Sara insisted. "I think you…"

Val shook her head again. "Sara, please. I just don't want to have to go through all that heartache again." She sighed. "Workplace romance doesn't work."

Sara thought of Grissom, and met the red-head's gaze icily. "Do you really believe that?"

"Let me finish the sentence," Val said with a wry smile. "Workplace romance doesn't work… for me. Never has, never will. Especially with me messing everything up." She snorted. "I travel a lot, take a lot of holidays, because it's a way to makes friends, have happy memories, without going too deep. And that's what this is, Sara." Val sighed. "A working holiday. I don't want to get involved with Nick, Greg, or anyone here." She looked away. "I'm hopeless, but I'll get over it."

"You shouldn't give up on yourself that easily," Sara said gently. "You should give it a shot. It's not all that bad."

"I just don't want to take that chance." Val said simply.

**

* * *

**

**A/N:** Like I said. Angst. Don't worry, the next chapter will be a little more cheery. Pfaugh. I write fluff and have to kill someone; angst, and I feel like I've gone too far with the melodrama. I suck. Or do I? Make your reviews out to ICRepresentative, or just plain ole ICRep. (Val has an incredible amount of backstory - I hope I'm not boring you.)


	10. Green Tea and Peanut Butter

**Disclaimer**: CSI CSI CSI!

* * *

Val swung open her locker door. "Just before you go, I want to give this to you." 

Sara frowned. "Give what?"

Val looked back at Sara. "Remember how I said I bought you something earlier today?"

Sara frowned good-naturedly, "Listen Val, you really didn't have to… I mean, I haven't gotten you anything…"

"Doesn't matter," Val said. "I was going to give it to you earlier, but I forgot. I don't want to forget again," Val explained as she pulled a bag out from her locker. "I thought it'd be a good idea to give this to you now, seeing as we're both taking a break from our respective cases." She held the bag out to Sara.

Sara blinked, and looked at it suspiciously. "What is it?"

Val did the orbital roll. "It's what I bought for you. I told you earlier this shift. Remember?" She proffered the bag again.

Sara, reluctantly, took the bag. "You really shouldn't have. I mean…"

"Sara, I bought it for you." Val was matter-of-fact and at the same time, grinning. "If you don't like it, you can do what you want with it. But for heaven's sake, just open it!" She laughed.

Sara looked at Val carefully. Only a few minutes before the red-head had been close to tears; now she was laughing and smiling.

"Go on," Val prompted, her grey-green eyes glittering mischievously, "It's not going to bite you."

Sara smiled, opened the bag, and pulled out…

"A shirt."

Val rolled her eyes again. "It's a blouse, Sara. A _blouse_. Not a shirt. A blouse."

Sara tucked the empty bag under her arm and held the blouse in both hands. It was cornflower blue, and fairly plain, aside from a few ruffles here and there. It looked very good quality, though. Sara looked at Val and frowned teasingly. "Is that it?"

Val grinned back. "I knew you'd like it. Try it on!"

Sara looked down at the blouse again. "You know, I… I think I should get back to work."

"Yes," Val agreed, "After you put the blouse on."

"It's just a blouse," Sara protested. "It's not that important."

Val raised an eyebrow.

"And it's not like anyone's going to notice." Sara said, still trying to defend herself.

"I'm sure Grissom would." Val said gently, still smiling.

Sara blanched. "Who told you…"

Val laughed. "I'm a CSI, Sara. I notice everything." She giggled. "Go on, try it on. At least that way you'll know whether it fits or not." She shut her locker door with a grin. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work." She waved farewell, then headed down the corridors with a spring in her step.

Sara looked down at the blouse in her hands. Well, it certainly was a nice shade of blue. And Val had gone to all the trouble of buying it for her. Ah, why not. She tossed the empty bag in the trash and headed for the ladies' room.

-

Greg had his stereo going as Nick walked in. The labrat turned it down and held out a small pile of papers for Nick.

"Good news and bad news," Greg said slowly. "The blood you guys collected off the catwalk all belongs to one model."

"Yeah, well according to Dana McCormick's statement, it all belongs to the missing supermodel."

Greg nodded, "If I had something to compare it to, I might be able to verify it."

"You said good news and bad news," Nick frowned in mock-suspicion. "What's the bad news?"

Greg shrugged. "Maybe the fact that Tina's blood is all over the catwalk?"

Nick sobered. "Yeah. Good point." He held up the papers as he turned and walked away. "Thanks man."

Greg waved back, then turned the volume of the stereo back up and got back to work.

Nick leafed through the papers as he headed for the fingerprint lab. Jacquie looked up from her own work.

"Hey, Nick," she said, "Just give me a second." She peered through the handheld magnifier between two fingerprint samples.

"The multiples from Days?" Nick asked.

"Mm-hmm… Jackpot!" She grinned and made some notes. "Match. Ecklie will leap for joy."

Nick laughed. "The day Ecklie leaps for joy is the day that it snows in the Sahara."

Jacquie nodded sagely. "Good point. So, how can I help you?"

"You get the fingerprint results back from the crack bags yet?"

Jacquie nodded. "Sure did." Her eyes flickered past Nick. "Hey Sara."

Nick turned around. Sara stood in the doorway, arms folded, but smiling. Nick raised an eyebrow.

"Nice shirt."

Sara sighed and mumbled something.

"Pardon?"

"I said," Sara shrugged, "It's a blouse."

It looked good on her - the colour suited her perfectly. Nick smiled approvingly. "Nice choice."

"Val got it for me," Sara said, as though apologising.

Nick smiled thoughtfully, but said nothing.

"Well, then this temp's got good taste," Jacquie said. "You two want your results or what?"

Sara stared. "Wow. That was fast."

"Yeah, well, I'd rather work this case than any of Day Shift's." Jacquie said, rolling her eyes. "They've been giving me hell." She rolled her chair over to her computer and tapped a few keys. "You guys aren't going to like this," she said dryly, as she brought up the results. "You guys gave me six plastic bags. Heaps of smudges, plenty of partials… but I got at least twenty good fingerprints."

"So why is that bad?" Nick frowned with a smile. He and Sara leaned over her shoulder to watch as the data came up on screen. Prints flashed past, blinking in green, the words 'Match' flashing past… then, suddenly, the screen split in four, and four fingerprints, each in their own section of the screen, flashed in red. 'Unknown'.

Jacquie shook her head. "Because four of them don't belong to Marcus Vincent."

-

"Two bedroom, two bathroom murder houses in outer suburbia, Las Vegas. They in Navajo White or Robin's Egg blue. Or whatever the hell colour you want to paint them." Warrick flipped through the blueprints again, then peered at the fine print, as though to discern some clue that Vega wouldn't find for him. Val was drawing on the whiteboard, writing the addresses and scrawling a quick location map.

"If it's a serial killer," she said, adding a street name, "Could that mean that the killer lives in one of the houses? Serial killers tend to operate in an area familiar to them." She added a cross on one of the houses - the house that had belonged to Hattie Birch.

"True," Warrick agreed, "But then, aren't their choice of victims also uniform? There has to be some link between them all."

Val raised an eyebrow over her shoulder. "You mean, the wood idea is out?"

"Ha." Warrick smiled, but shook his head. "I really don't see that as a link."

Val sighed, then checked her notes again and went back to drawing on the whiteboard… and she drew a picture of a tree. Warrick rolled his eyes.

At that moment, Vega came in. "I ran the background check on the company that designed those houses."

"Wow. That was fast," Val grinned.

"What," Vega frowned good-naturedly, "Police aren't swift and efficient in Seattle?"

Val laughed, "No, the police are fine. It's the lab that kinda sucks. I have to ask people at least eight times, then whine and complain to the boss that nothing's happening, before anything gets done." She gave a meaningful - and slightly warning - look to Warrick. "I'm not exactly Little Miss Popular." She shrugged. "For various reasons." She grinned at Vega. "So far, I think Vegas rocks, especially regarding the speed at information collection."

Vega grinned back, then referred to his notes, "Well, the company that designed and built the houses is called Forrester and York."

Val leapt on that. "Forrester! Someone who cuts down trees!"

"Stop with the tree thing already!"

Vega looked between Val and Warrick and decided not to comment. He looked back at the papers in his hands. "Pamela Forrester and Michael York started the company about twenty years ago, then about fifteen years ago their company name changed to York Design and Construction."

"Why?" Warrick asked.

"Because they tied the knot."

"What, they're married?" Val raised an eyebrow. "A husband-and-wife team making houses in Vegas?"

"Weird, huh?" Vega grinned. "Anyway, they changed the name of their company back to Forrester and York about ten years ago because people trusted the longer name, then it was around this time that the houses were built. I did background checks on both Pamela and Michael. Neither have any criminal records."

"Course not," Val agreed, "Because they've never been caught. Right?"

Vega looked at Val pointedly, then shrugged. "Well, maybe they didn't do it."

"Detective," Val frowned, "With all due respect, I've been under Julia Westwood's house. Whoever dug the tunnel knew the placement of the foundations. Someone who had access to the blueprints. And we don't have any other leads."

"Well, they'd have to be alive, right?"

Val's mouth made an 'o' shape, but she said nothing.

"Five years ago," Vega continued, the smile gone from his face, "The Yorks were involved in a five-car pileup. Pamela was killed instantly, but Michael survived." He looked at Warrick. "I contacted him. He's willing to talk to you if you want."

"Good idea," Warrick said, "Then we can find out who else had access to the blueprints." Val nodded in agreement, but said nothing. They followed Vega out of the layout room and down the corridors.

"Hey, Val!"

Val's head snapped around. Nick was coming out of the fingerprint lab and walking down the corridor towards her. Sara was following close behind… She was wearing the blouse.

"Meet you outside," Warrick said, patting Val on the shoulder.

"Thanks." Val grumbled.

"Hey," Nick grinned, "Uh, how's your case going?"

Val smiled and nodded. "Umm, it's… going fine. Thanks for asking."

"That's good." Nick nodded.

Sara rolled her eyes behind Nick's back.

"So, umm, Valerie…" Nick cleared his throat, "Well, when your case is over, do you want to go get breakfast somewhere?"

As if on cue, Val's phone began to ring. Val turned and looked at Greg through the glass walls. He quickly hung up and tried to look innocent.

"Umm, thanks but no thanks." Val said, turning back to Nick. "I'm busy. Rain check?"

"Busy?" Nick frowned, "Doing what?"

Sara cleared her throat. "I'm taking her on a tour of Vegas."

Nick turned around to stare at Sara. Val did a silent sigh of relief. _Thankyou, Sara_. She mouthed. Sara smiled at Nick.

"Oh, okay." Nick shrugged. "Some other time then?"

Val shrugged. "Maybe. We'll see."

"Cool." Nick grinned. "hey, umm… do you…" He frowned, as though unsure of how to phrase the question. "Do you… do you drink green tea?"

Val frowned. "Ah, no. I prefer jasmine tea. Why?"

"Oh no reason."

Val nodded. "Okay." She turned to go, then turned back. "Nick, do you like peanut butter?"

Nick frowned and shook his head. "Naw, I hate the stuff. Why?"  
Val blinked and looked innocent. "Oh, no reason." She cleared her throat and looked up the corridors. "Umm, listen, I gotta go. See you… whenever. Bye." She waved then hurried after Warrick and Vega.

"What I do?" Nick asked, turning to Sara.

Sara shrugged. "I don't know." _Well, not really_. _I mean, she asked me not to tell_… She smiled, "What was that green tea thing about?"

Nick did an imitation of a fish out of water. "I… I … I dunno."

Sara smirked knowingly. "Really?"

Suddenly both Nick and Sara's pagers went off. It was Grissom.

* * *

**A/N**: Green tea and peanut butter for EVERYONE! Extra long chapter for you all. Reviews make me happy. 


	11. Don't Tell Him

**Disclaimer**: Csi not mine. Whole family loves CSI. Rock the family.

* * *

Grissom put aside his pager and waited for Sara to show up. Jackie watched Grissom warily from the other end of the table, and hugged her teddy bear tighter. 

Grissom sighed inwardly. This wasn't going to be an easy interview. It was a good thing he had Sara around. He'd told Nick to go speak to the other models and get their fingerprints. He had a hunch that they might be needed.

Grissom's beeper went off. It was Nick. '_Unknown fingerprints on bag - you think it's one of the models_?'

Unknown fingerprints? Grissom sighed again. This case was getting progressively worse. There was still no clue as to where Tina had gone, no clue as to whether she had been kidnapped or simply walked out, and everyone, so far, seemed to be lying or hiding something, or both.

He looked up again to find Jackie still staring at him, with wide eyes that showed only fear.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said gently. "I just want to talk to you."

Jackie cringed as though he'd hit her, and buried her face in her teddy. Grissom sighed again.

He heard the door open and close quietly, and Sara sat down beside him. She smiled at the supermodel, and Jackie peeped over the top of her teddy bear, a little assured. She now seemed like a child being introduced to strangers - shy, but curious.

"So, Jackie…" Sara leant forward, "Are you okay?"

"I'm hungry." She said gently. "And I'm very sleepy."

"This won't take long," Sara assured her. "We only need to ask you a few questions. Okay?"

Jackie squirmed in her seat. "Okay."

Grissom relaxed. Sara could definitely handle this.

"Jackie, we need your fingerprints."

Jackie blinked. "Why?"

Sara smiled reassuringly. "We found some fingerprints that don't belong to Marcus, and we don't know whose they are."

Jackie whispered something in her teddy's ear, listened to its reply, then looked back up at Sara. "Misty says you can have them if you want. She says we should share."

"Really?" Sara smiled, but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. "Well, how about I give you my fingerprints, and you give me yours."

Jackie spoke to her teddy bear again. "Misty says she wants his fingerprints." She pointed at Grissom.

Sara looked at Grissom and raised an eyebrow. "Is that okay, Grissom?"

Grissom blinked, then smiled uncertainly at the girl. "Why do you want my fingerprints?" Jackie just giggled.

Sara cleared her throat, then got out the ink-pads and sheets of paper. She looked at Jackie. "Ok, Jackie, this is what we do when we take someone's fingerprints." She picked up Grissom's hand. Grissom forgot to move his hand towards the ink pad, so Sara had to yank at his arm.

Jackie giggled again.

One by one Sara pressed Grissom's fingers into the inkpad and rolled across the paper. Grissom stared at his fingerprints as thought they were the strangest things he'd ever seen. When the card had been filled with Grissom's prints, Sara gave it to Jackie. While Jackie oohed and ahhed with her bear over the fingerprints, Sara turned to look at Grissom. Catching his eye, she smiled a warm smile at him… and her heart leaped when he smiled back.

"You want my fingerprints now?"

Sara turned back to look at Jackie. "Not yet. I just want to ask you a question first."

Grissom frowned at Sara. But Sara didn't notice.

"Okay." Jackie said, smiling. "What is it?"

"That mark on your back," Sara said slowly, "Did Marcus hit you? Did Marcus do that?"

Jackie stared at Sara, her smile vanishing. She hugged her bear tightly again, and refused to answer.

"Jackie, please." Sara said, almost pleading. "Just tell me, yes or no."

"He hit me." Jackie said, in a voice so small it was almost inaudible. "But I'm not supposed to talk or I'll get in trouble."

Sara looked at Grissom, as though to say 'I told you so', but it was a sad triumph.

"Okay, Jackie," Grissom said, "Sara's going to take your fingerprints now."

Jackie watched as Sara picked up her fingers, and one by one rolled them in ink and tapped them on the card. And then she turned her sad brown eyes on Grissom.

"Don't tell him I told you," she whispered. "Tina told on him, and he hit her so bad she didn't wake up."

Sara went as pale as a sheet and left the room with Jackie's ten-card as soon as she could.

-

Warrick drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "I suppose anything's possible."

"So why are you throwing out my tree theory?" Val whined.

Warrick laughed, and Val smiled along with him. "Because," he explained, "Forrester was killed. York wasn't. York has got nothing to do with trees."

Val pursed her lips thoughtfully, then sighed. "Alright, fine. I'm dropping the tree angle. Happy?"

Warrick laughed, "Your crazy theory reminds me of the time when everyone at the lab was convinced that a vic had died from spontaneous combustion. Well, everyone except me." Sure it was a slight exaggeration, but exaggerations made for better stories.

"Funny you should mention that," Val said, with a completely straight face, "Because it happened in Seattle not too long ago."

Warrick spared Val a quick, stunned stare before turning his eyes back to the road. "You're kidding."

Val burst out laughing. "Gotcha!"

Warrick shook his head and scowled, then reached down and turned on the radio. Some soulful singer crooned out a ballad. The voice was hauntingly familiar. Warrick stared at the radio. "Lillie?"

"Who's Lillie?" Val asked, curious.

Lillie's voice sang a song about missing someone. Warrick stared stubbornly out the window his jaw set.

"You don't want to talk about it?"

"Lillie Ivers," Warrick said, his voice emotionless. "She was just a lounge singer when I first met her. She was heading towards the top. I guess she still is."

"What happened?" Val asked gently

"We were investigating a murder," Warrick said, as though he really didn't want to talk about it. "she wasn't a suspect or anything, but she was there… and she heard me play piano." He swallowed.

"Fur Elise in blues?" Val asked, the ghost of a smile playing about her lips.

Warrick smiled and shook his head, "Naw, it was something I made up myself." He gripped the steering wheel hard, relaxed, gripped it again. A lone car passed them on the roads. "I had to walk away."

The song ended, and the DJ announced the girl's name. It wasn't Lillie Ivers. Warrick sighed, somehow relieved, somehow disappointed. Another song started up, a little bouncy, a little more upbeat.

"Could we turn that off?" Val asked, a little uncomfortable.

"What?" Warrick smirked, "You don't like bubblegum pop?"

Val gave him The Look. "I like all music. Just not right now." She sighed. "I haven't listened to music since… since then."

Warrick looked at Val out of the corner of his eye. She was slumped down in the seat, tracing the scar on her stomach through her shirt.

Warrick turned the radio off, then turned into the side road. They'd arrived at the York home. And Michael York was waiting for them.

* * *

**A/N**: Just a boring author's note today. This story is: To be continued. Please review. Creative reviews make me have happy glee moments - funny ones may or may not make me fall out of my chair. (PS It's Val's bday on the twelfth!) 

(... Yes i know, I'm pathetic. I make my characters seem more lifelike by actually giving them birthdays -.- well, only the interesting characters, anyway)


	12. Look Who's Lying Now

**Disclaimer**: CSI belongs to some other hot shot.

**A/N**: This chapter is dedicated to Nerwen and Tinuviel, who are currently in Thailand and Vietnam, respectively. Thanks for the help, chickas! See you in Starbucks!

* * *

"I pulled Marcus' records and did some digging on Jock Jones." Brass slapped a file on Grissom's desk. "No such beast." The detective sat down in front of the Night Shift Supervisor and smiled a cat's-got-the-cream smile. 

Grissom leafed through the files. "And who was Jock Jones _supposed_ to be?"

"The one who got Marcus Vincent into the," Brass cleared his throat and put on an ominous voice, "Underground drug-smuggling ring." The detective rolled his eyes. "I pulled Marcus's job records. Found that," he pointed to the file in Grissom's hands.

Grissom pulled out a mug-shot of a younger-looking Marcus Vincent. He read the charges out loud. "Possession with the intent to sell, assault, drunk and disorderly, domestic disturbance - three counts - and fraud and embezzlement."

Brass shook his head sadly. "He gets around, don't he?"

Grissom smirked. "So let me guess - the money he embezzled has gone in to creating a fashion empire."

"An empire of dirt. You know," Brass smiled, "I love it when a suspect lies."

"So, Vincent steals money, uses it to set himself up as a respectable businessman."

"No such thing," Brass interrupted dryly.

Grissom continued, "He hires supermodels, calls around, gets himself well-known, gets sponsors, gets more money… keeps feeding his drug habit. He gets richer, his self-made business booms, and he's on top of the world."

"And at the same time," Brass said, blank-faced for once, "He's treating the girls that work for him like trash." He shook his head. "When we lined up those models for their fingerprints, the three that were uncooperative before… they all cracked. One of them literally. She hadn't had a 'present' of cocaine from Marcus in a while. They had to take her to the hospital. The other two started babbling about Marcus' abuse and how nothing was their fault, that they wanted to get out but they couldn't because Marcus' thugs would come after them, etcetera, etcetera." Brass held up a finger. "Thing was, there were no thugs. Just Marcus."

"He controls them through fear, drug addiction, and force," Grissom said grimly.

Brass smiled. "Funny, that's exactly what the mayor said. Oh yeah, and he's decided not to call the Feds in. Says we have full jurisdiction to slam Marcus' ass for whatever crimes that _we_ find. To quote: _Get him_. Un-quote."

"Have we got the fingerprint results back yet?"

Greg appeared in the doorway. "Hot off the press, boss." He grinned.

Grissom frowned. "Greg, what are you doing here? You're DNA, Jacquie is fingerprints."

Greg shrugged. "Yeah, I know but I finished the multiples and I was bored."

"Translation," Brass grinned, "You started bugging everyone else."

Greg looked insulted. "I do not 'bug'. I irritate."

"And now you're irritating me," Grissom said, half-jokingly. He picked up the file and leafed through it. A name leapt off the page. He stared. "Jacqueline Connors."

Brass frowned. "The blonde with the stuffed bear? What's she doing touching drugs?"

Grissom looked up at Greg. "When you were doing the test samples, you checked the supermodels DNA, right?"

"In _great_ detail." Greg grinned.

Brass sighed and shook his head.

Grissom ignored both of them. "Did you check for cocaine in the bloodstream?"

Greg immediately became serious. "Yeah, but there was only cocaine in the samples of Monica Mareschka, Samantha Renée, and Ayumi Ohashi's blood."

"And Samantha was the one they shipped off to Desert Palm," Brass verified.

Greg frowned. "Yeah, well good riddance."

Grissom stared at the papers in his hands, "So if Jackie doesn't take the drugs, what's she doing holding the bags?" He stood up.

"Why don't we ask her?" Brass said, also rising from his chair. Detective and supervisor made a hasty exit.

"You're welcome." Greg said. With a dramatic sigh that was wasted on the samples in Grissom's office, the labrat turned and headed back to the DNA lab with all the dignity he could muster.

-

"Jacqueline Connors…" Brass cleared his throat and put on an intimidating pose

"You can call me Jackie!" She beamed back, all innocence and light

Brass blinked. "… Right." He took a breathe, tried again. "Well, Jackie, we found your fingerprints on a bag of cocaine in Marcus's trailer."

"Well, they're not mine." Jackie said, ignoring Brass to play with her bear. "I'm not allowed to touch the plastic bags."

Brass half-smiled. "How did you know it was a plastic bag?"

Jackie's hands froze, and she slowly looked up at him, as though she'd just said something wrong. "Because they always come in plastic bags…"

"How would you know that?"

Jackie bit her lip and hugged her bear to her chest. "He makes me carry things. Hide things. He says I'm the one least likely to get caught. I'm not supposed to talk about it. He made me promise. But then he hit me." She brightened, as though she'd just thought of something. "Hey, if you hit someone after they make a promise, does that mean you don't have to keep the promise?"

"Jackie…" Brass said warningly.

The girl continued to ramble, "Because if I break a promise, I'll get in trouble, and if get in trouble, Marcus hits me. He hits everyone. It hurts… a lot. One time, he hit me so hard a tooth came out. The tooth fairy didn't come, and I waited for a week. Then someone stole my tooth. And I didn't even get a quarter."

_Why couldn't Sara help me out here? Jackie talks to her_! Brass decided to try a different tact. "Jackie, why does Marcus hit everyone?"

"Umm…" The girl looked thoughtful, "When we eat too much, when we stand on the box and the needle moves too much, when we don't fit in the clothes, when we look happy on camera, when we…"

"Did Marcus ever hit Tina?" Brass interrupted gently.

Jackie nodded vigorously. "He hit Tina lots more than anyone else. He was always mad at her, but I don't know why, because she's always nice to me. She's the nicest person in the world! But Marcus is mean. He's mean to everyone. Mean to me, and I don't do anything. I just carry his stuff. He puts his bags in my teddy bears sometimes. Nobody notices my teddy bears - they think they're cute and fuzzy, but inside they have bags full of sugar. I'm not allowed to eat the sugar. I tried it once and I got really sick. And Marcus hit me a lot." Her voice tapered off at the end of her speech, and she fell into silence.

"Did Marcus hit Tina really hard one time?"

Jackie nodded again, this time a little less enthusiastically. "He always hits her hard. … But one time, he had a stick… and he hit her with it, and it broke, but he kept hitting her. And she was bleeding… and she wanted to go see a doctor. But Marcus made her practice walking up and down the…" She paused, confused, and flapped one manicured hand, "That… that thingy."

"The catwalk." Brass said, eyebrow raised.

"Yeah." Jackie nodded, then frowned. "I don't know why they call it a catwalk. Cats like to walk on the tops of brick walls. I used to have a pet cat. Mum called her Miffy, but I called her Fluffy because she was white and fluffy. She had yellow eyes and when you pet her tummy she purred really loud!" Jackie smiled, then started playing with her bear again.

Brass looked at the one-way mirror and shrugged. _I've done my best. You guys do the rest._

In the other room, O'Reilly was interviewing Marcus Vincent…with similar success.

"Look we know you made up Jock Jones, we know you are the one with the drug problems, and we know that you are giving drugs to and beating the models, so why don't you do the right thing for once and come clean."

Marcus went from smirking-silent to loud-angry in zero-point-two seconds. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about that crap you've been feeding us all day!" O'Reilly barked back. "Siddown!"

Marcus did so, scowling and venomous.

"Let's start from the beginning," the cop said, putting his hands on his hips. "Who's muling your drugs for you?"

"No-one 'mules' 'em," Marcus sneered. "I get them straight from the source."

O'Reilly whacked a fist on the table. "How 'bout you stop spoonfeeding me that BS and start coming clean. We know there's no drug ring. You buy from a dealer named Don Kirby, and, when you're out of town, his buddies. But Don doesn't come to the show because he's too scared to get caught with the drugs. So who's muling them?"

"I carry 'em myself! Don's never even met any of the girls! Ask him" Marcus yelled back, rattled that the police had found him out. "I dish the crack out to the girls personally when they deserve it."

"Three of the girls." O'Reilly said, calmer now.

Marcus looked mutinous. "Yeah. Three of them."

"And Jackie isn't one of them."

"Jackie?" Marcus snorted. "She's a retard. Aside from looks, she's got nothing. No home, no family, no guts."

"Is that why you hit her?"

Marcus smirked. "Hit her? Now where would anyone get that idea?"

"Maybe from the five supermodels out there who panicked."

Marcus' rage returned. "Those bitches! I'll kill them all!"

"SIDDOWN!" O'Reilly roared. He reached for his gun, and the officer in the corner reached for his club. Marcus took the hint and sat down quietly.

"Alright," O'Reilly said, "Lets try this one more time. Jackie doesn't touch the drugs."

"Doesn't need to," Marcus growled. "She's already handicapped."

O'Reilly leaned on the table and stuck his face in Marcus'. "She's suffering from some serious trauma, Mr Vincent. You wouldn't have anything to do with that, would you?"

Marcus looked uncomfortable. "So I discipline them from time to time. It's not like they're little angels."

"Course not," O'Reilly smiled. "Coz you're giving them drugs and beating them upside with the head with big sticks."

"Hey, I only used that on Tina!" Marcus stopped, then gaped, realising what he'd just admitted.

O'Reilly smiled. "Now, don't you feel all better for coming out into the open like that?"

Marcus glowered. "I want a lawyer."

"Sure thing, sure thing." O'Reilly nodded, sitting down. "Just one last question - Jackie has nothing to do with the drugs, right?"

"Course not," Marcus scoffed. "The girl doesn't even know how to tie her own shoelaces."

"So how'd her fingerprints get on the bag?"

Marcus frowned for a long time. Finally he shook his head and shrugged. "I have no idea."

-

Sara turned to Grissom. "He's lying."

Grissom frowned through the glass at the supermodel's agent. "Maybe we should go back and ask Brass to ask Jackie a few more direct questions."

Sara stared at him. "You're not serious. You actually believe this lying bastard?"

"Humour me," Grissom said, turning to look at Sara with piercing eyes. Sara shut her mouth, and sighed in defeat.

"Alright, fine."

-

Brass sat down again, and smiled at the girl. "Hello, Jackie."

"Hello." She smiled at him.

Brass started to ask his question, then remembered his manners. "And hello, Misty."

Jackie giggled, and waved the bear's front paw at him. "Misty says hello."

"Alright, Jackie… and Misty." Brass's smile was becoming very fixed. "I forgot before… have you ever touched the bags of cocaine… Of sugar?"

Jackie nodded. "Marcus makes me."

"And he puts them in your teddy bears, right?"

Jackie nodded. "All the time."

"So that's how your fingerprints got on the bags?"

Jackie nodded.

Brass smiled. "So what about Don?"

"Don gives them to me." She bit her lip, the blinked and looked up at Brass. "Hey… how did you know about Don?"

Brass's smile vanished slowly, and he stood up and walked out. He shut the door quietly behind him.

Jackie stared down at the bear in her arms, and shook her head belittlingly.

-

"She lied." Sara stared, horrified. "Jackie lied." She shook her head, trying to deny this. "She's got the mind of a child… Children don't lie!"

Grissom's mouth was set in a hard line. "Sara, she's not a child."

**

* * *

A/N:** Dun dun dun dun… n-n having fun so far? That's a shame, seeing as Tunnel Vision is about to come to an end. Only a few more chapters to go… can you survive the cliffhanger? MOO HA HA. Please review. 


	13. Family Traits

**Disclaimer**: CSI not mine, Val the OC is mine.

**A/N**: Happy birthday Valerie! n.nv  
**Val**: Aww, shucks, I'm blushing. -.-;;

* * *

"You must be the criminalists who wanted to speak to me," Michael York watched as Warrick and Val climbed out of the SUV and crossed the lawn towards him. "I wish I could give you more of a reception, but it's out of my hands. Unfortunately." 

It was Val who recovered first. "Thankyou for allowing us to come over, sir. Especially at this hour."

The man gave a barely perceptible shake of the head. "It's alright. I hope I can be of some assistance." He lifted one hand and pointed to some chairs on the lawn in front of his wheelchair. "Please, feel free to sit down." Val and Warrick sat.

Michael York was a quadriplegic. There was no way he could have been the killer.

"I understood there was a problem with one of the houses," Michael said slowly. "What happened?"

Warrick cleared his throat. "We believe a serial killer is using the blueprints of the homes your company designed and built to murder people, Mr York."

Michael shut his eyes and heaved a wheezing sigh. "How?"

"Whoever the killer is," Val unrolled the blueprint and pointed to a spot on it, "They dig under the houses, and come up through a trapdoor in the floor."

"How many murders? How many times?" Michael seemed to sag.

"Six different houses." Val said softly.

Michael lowered his head as far as the brace on his neck would allow. He sighed again. "Pam and I designed those houses so people could dig their own basements if they wanted to. I had no idea that… that someone was using our houses for murder… I'm so, so sorry…"

"It's not your fault." Warrick said gently. Val looked sharply up at Warrick, then bit her lip and looked aside.

The man sighed wearily. "No… I suppose not." He took a breath, lifted his head. "You had some questions for me?"

"Yeah," Warrick nodded. "Do you know who might have access to the blueprints?"

Michael York frowned, and bit his lip. After a moment, he waggled his head in what might pass as a shrug. "Back when the houses were being built, it was just me and Pam, and we kept them under lock and key. But after the… after the accident…" Michael's eyes flickered down to the electric wheelchair he was strapped into, "I had to turn the blueprints over to another company. They don't build the houses anymore, but it's anyone's guess who might have access to them. Hell, anyone off the street could pull them off the internet if they wanted."

Val sighed, looking disheartened. Warrick put the blueprints back into the folder. "Thankyou for your time, sir."

Michael nodded. "Anytime. I hope I've been of some help."

Val smiled at him, but it was a sad smile. "We'll keep at it, Mr York. Don't you worry." She looked up at the house. "Is there someone taking care of you? Because if you need help…"

Michael York said wryly. "You sound like my nurse."

As if being summoned at a word, a young woman appeared in the doorway, and looked up at Val and Warrick.

"Funny," Val smiled, a little wider now, "You know, I used to be one?"

Michael laughed. "She's my daughter. She's been taking care of her old man for quite some time now." His eyes suddenly darkened, and his smile vanished. "Good luck catching the killer."

"Thanks." Val nodded. "And thanks again for your time." They both climbed into the SUV and drove off. On the horizon, the sun was slowly beginning to rise. End of the graveyard shift.

"This case is over," Warrick said sadly, concentrating on the road. "There's no way we can track down multiple copies of a house's blueprints. Even with a supercomputer… This case is over."

"Yeah, write 'Unsolved' in big red letters on this one." Val gave a disheartened sigh. "I hate leaving cases half done. No closure. For the victim's family… or me. I feel like I haven't done a good enough job."

"Hey, we did all that we could."

There was silence in the SUV for a while.

"Not really," Val said quietly, "There is one thing I think we should do before we give up."

"What's that?" Warrick asked.

Val looked sideways at Warrick. "Tell Julia Westwood's parents that we tried our best to find their baby's murderer."

-

Jackie looked fearfully from face to face. Grissom stood against the wall, watching the young woman's face closely. Nick and Sara sat at the table opposite the girl, both with the hands folded.

Sara's eyes narrowed. Jackie buried her head in her teddy again.

"You can drop the act now." Sara bit off the words. "It's over."

Jackie blinked at Sara, uncomprehending.

"You know, it should have clicked when I was talking to Dana," Sara smiled acidly. "She said you had the mental capacity of a ten-year-old. But here you are, acting like you're two or three. What, do you act older when you're with your friends?"

Jackie buried her head in her teddy bear.

Nick turned his head to look at Grissom, but the supervisor shook his head. Let Sara handle this for a while.

"You know what else Dana said?" Sara sat back and tried to look nonchalant. "She said she wanted to be an actress. She wanted to be discovered while working for Marcus."

"He hit Dana too." Jackie whispered.

"Oh?" Sara said in mock-surprise, "So he hit Dana, he hit you, he hit Tina… _he_ hits everyone." Sara leant forward. "What's '_his_' name, Jackie? Can you say his name, or are you too afraid to?"

Jackie whimpered and looked over at Grissom. "Why is she mad at me?"

"Say it," Grissom said. "Say his name, and she'll leave you alone."

"Marcus." Jackie whispered.

Sara smiled. "There, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Nick pulled a tape recorder out from under the desk and pressed a button.

'_Marcus._'

'_There, that wasn't so hard…_'

Nick looked up at Jackie, and pressed another button.

'_But Marcus is mean…_' Nick pressed fast forward for a second, '_And Marcus hits me a lot…_' Jackie stared, childish fear etched on her face.

"Can I hear that one more time, Nick?" Sara smiled.

"Certainly, Sara." Nick tapped a few buttons, and the word 'Marcus' played side by side, then on top of each other. They sounded completely different.

"You know, none of this will hold up in court," Sara said, conversationally, "But I'm pretty sure that a jury will see the differences in your voice."

"And it's not because you're afraid," Grissom volunteered. "You use completely different pitch all three times. I'm pretty sure if we record you again, you'll say 'Marcus' completely differently."

Jackie continued to stare at the tape recorder in Nick's hand. "Why are you doing this?" She whispered, close to tears.

"Because you lied to us," Sara said simply. "So, what else, I wonder, are you hiding? Maybe you weren't such a good friend to Tina Evelyn as you said you were. Maybe you're the one responsible for her 'disappearance'."

Jackie shook her head frantically. "I didn't do anything!" She said, nearly sobbing. "But Tina made me promise!"

"Did Tina also tell you to call the police?" Nick asked.

Jackie froze, her eyes widening.

"Yeah," Sara said, "We analysed your voice patterns against the voice of the anonymous caller who tipped off the police about the missing model." Sara smiled acidly again. "You are a _very_ good actress. You could pull off any role you wanted if you got 'discovered'." Her smile vanished. "You even fooled me."

Jackie looked from Sara, to Nick, then to Sara again. With a sigh, she gently placed her teddy bear on the table, making sure it sat comfortable… then picked it up and threw it against the wall with a screech. Nick, Sara, and Grissom all stared, stunned. Jackie turned back to face Nick and Sara.

A cold, venomous expression had replaced Jackie's childlike visage. She sneered at Sara.

"Congratulations, CSI's," Jackie laughed bitterly. "You've done something no-one has ever done before. Caught me out." She laughed.

Nick stared, open-mouthed. Grissom frowned over his glasses. Sara looked disgusted.

"Yeah, alright," Jackie shrugged, no longer acting like a little girl, "I called the police. Tina running off was the best thing that ever happened to me. You know why? Because _Marcus_," she sneered at Grissom, stressing the word, "Will finally be put behind bars. Where he belongs." She sat back in her chair and stretched herself languidly, as though bored. "You have no idea what kind of a relief this is," she smirked, "I don't have to play pretend anymore." She looked skyward, "Tina, I'm sorry, but you know I'm going to have to come clean about what happened." She turned and smiled politely at Sara.

Sara scowled, and opened her mouth to speak. But Nick butted in.

"Explain your fingerprints on the cocaine bag."

"Oh, puh-lease," Jackie rolled her eyes, "You can't work that out?"

"_You'd better get some clothes on," Sara said. _

"_I am wearing clothes," Jackie said, feigning confusion, before turning and heading for her trailer. In the carpark, she removed her high-heels and ran across the asphalt. She hid behind one of the cars, and watched as Brass and Grissom went into Tina, Dana and Jackie's shared trailer. After only seconds to think on it, Jackie turned and ran to Marcus' trailer. Using the key under the mat, she unlocked the door and slipped inside. Once inside, she hunted quickly for Marcus' stash. Once she located it, she opened one of the bags, took a pinch of cocaine, and sprinkled it on the glass table. Even a blind man couldn't miss that. She closed up the bag, hid it under the magazines, then hurried outside, remembering to replace the key under the mat as she went._

_Then she put her heels back on, and tottered up to the trailer. "Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't know there was somebody in here!"_

"I guess I hadn't thought about the fingerprints," Jackie admitted wryly, "But whatever floats your boat."

"Brilliant." Sara said, blank-faced.

"But why?" Nick frowned. "Why go through all this… just to get Marcus arrested?"

Jackie laughed. "You criminalists were looking for Tina. You were looking at Marcus for the drugs, and the abuse, and the _lies_. Well, you were right. That's why Tina's gone. Because Marcus lost his temper." She sneered every time she said his name. "But you never looked at any of us, did you? Not really. I mean," she smirked, "If you were, maybe you would have noticed me."

"You wore a mask," Grissom interrupted smoothly. "You became the persona you had created in order to fit in with the other models. But you not only fit in, you blended in. You fooled everyone."

"Damn right I did," Jackie laughed. "And you three bought it all. Hook, line and sinker." She smirked. "And Dana thinks no-one cares what _she_ thinks. She may be a 'backwards Canadian', but anyone with eyes can see she has a brain. That was her downfall - reading all those books." Jackie shook her head sadly. "Me? Hell, I could even fool my own father if I tried."

"Let me get this straight," Nick said, frowning. "You're the one that moved the drugs so we'd arrest Marcus. You're the one who called the police to report Tina's disappearance. And you're the one who knows exactly where she is."

Jackie smiled condescendingly at Nick, as though he were a dog that had just learned a new trick.

"Why all the lies?" Grissom frowned. "Why hide behind a façade?"

"You're the scientists," she said smoothly, "You figure it out." She made her face devoid of any emotion, then subtly lifted the corner of her lip slightly, half-raised an eyebrow… a face that seemed both unreadable and arrogant; a blank-faced sneer.

Sara sucked in breath suddenly.

Jackie's self-imposed mask vanished behind a seemingly genuine smile. "She's figured it out," she laughed at Grissom and Nick. "But then, it wasn't that hard for her." Jackie smiled at Sara. "After all, you were the one looking the hardest."

"Who are you?" Sara asked.

Nick and Grissom exchanged glances. What was Sara talking about?

"You mean you can't figure it out?" Jackie put on her baby voice again and blinked large Bambi eyes. "You don't know who I am? Don't you trust me?" She smiled and giggled. "Tina trusts me. She's the nicest person ever!" She suddenly smiled a smile somehow more predatory than Samantha's… and three times as dangerous. "Of course," she sneered. "Everybody trusts poor little Jacqueline _Connors_." The way she stressed the word sent shivers up all three CSI's spines.

Suddenly, it clicked. The drugs. The lies and deception. The blank-faced sneer.

"Like father, like daughter." Jackie smirked, and her face was a mirror of Marcus Vincent.

**

* * *

A/N:** Wow! Two cliff-hangers in one chapter! Read and review! And wish Val a happy birthday (12th of Feb) while you're here. lol. 


	14. Everyone Loves Cliches!

**Disclaimer**: Oh i wish i wish i owned this… um… dish? CSI is not mine.

* * *

Warrick knocked on the door and stepped back. Val was on the lawn, aiming a small digital camera at the sky. 

"Val, what are you doing?"

She looked over and smiled. "I take photos of clouds and sky-scapes. This sunrise was just too beautiful to pass up!" She turned her attention back to the camera and clicked off a few more shots.

"Hey," Warrick grinned, "At least you got a hobby."

"What, and you don't?" She put her camera back into its bag and slung it over her shoulder.

Warrick grinned. "No, but Sara doesn't. Maybe you could get her hooked on taking pictures of the sky as well. Give her something to spend her time on." He knocked on the door again.

Val rolled her eyes. "Warrick, a hobby has to be something you enjoy. I like looking at the sky - seeing as I come from Seattle, it's a paradox at best." She shook her head. "Those 55 days of sunshine a year, I pull a sickie just to get some clear shots."

"You're obsessed."

"I like sunshine." She looked up at Warrick. "What does Sara like? I mean, aside from work? Does she even have any hobbies?"

Warrick shrugged. "I have no idea. Maybe you'll have to ask her." He knocked again. "Y'know," he said, "Maybe Mr and Mrs Westwood aren't home."

"Or they aren't awake yet…" Val mused, and looked over her shoulder at the sky again. "It _is _early."

There was the sound of locks turning, and a small man in a bathrobe answered the door. "Can I help you?"

Warrick cleared his throat and made the introductions. "Sir, I'm Warrick Brown, and this is Valerie Wilks. We're from the crime lab, and we were investigating your daughter's murder."

The man grabbed the collar of his robe and pulled it tight. "You… did you… did you…" The hope in his eyes was almost pitiful. He smiled feebly. "My wife's not up yet, but would you like to come in?"

"Ah…" Val exchanged looks with Warrick, "Ah, no, no thankyou, Mr Westwood, we wouldn't want to take up too much of your time. Besides, we have to get to the lab and finish some paperwork."

"Just for ten minutes," Mr Westwood pleaded, "Please."

Warrick and Val exchanged glances again, then Warrick nodded. "But only for a short time, sir."

The man stood aside to let them in, then shut the door.

"Can I get you something?" He said, leading them through the house. "Coffee? Please don't say no, because I insist."

Warrick looked at Val. _Way to send us on a guilt-trip, girl_, He thought bleakly. Val looked at Warrick and winced, clearly thinking the same thing. _Sorry_, she mouthed.

"Coffee would be great," Warrick said, feeling the fatigue of an all-night work shift coming crashing down on him.

"I'll just have tea, thanks," Val put in.

The man smiled. "Sure, I'll just put the kettle on." He went through a door that separated the kitchen from the living room.

The house was spacious, covered in plush white carpet. The wooden furniture gleamed from constant polishing. There was a grand piano in one corner - similar to the one Julia had owned. The shelves and bookcases were filled with books written by well-known authors, and the room was decorated tastefully with knickknacks from all over the globe. Snapshots documenting the Westwoods' life were. Framed and hanging on every wall. The Westwoods were obviously well-off… but money wouldn't bring Julia back. Warrick heard Val sigh heavily, and silently agreed.

Mr Westwood reappeared. He sat down on the couch, and motioned for Warrick and Val to do the same. But they remained standing.

"So, you were investigating my daughter's case," Mr Westwood twisted the sash of his robe in his fingers.

"Yes," Val said, "It's been a difficult case."

"Did you find the man who raped and strangled her?"

Val had to look away. Warrick fielded the question. "No, sir. We didn't. We couldn't. He's gotten away clean."

The man's face creased in anguish. "No… No! You… you have to keep looking! You have to find him!"

"We've done our best, sir," Warrick said, looking to Val for support. This was her idea from the beginning… and all she was doing was looking at the photos on the wall.

"So you're just giving up?" Mr Westwood pleaded, "Isn't there something you can do?"

"We've done all that we can do, sir." Warrick said grimly. "But next time, we'll get him. Considering this is one of many serial killings, he's sure to strike again. And we'll get him for sure."

"But there's nothing you can do to…"

Val turned around, and pointed to one of the photos on the wall. "How long ago was this taken, Mr Wormwood?"

The man blinked. "Excuse me?"

Warrick frowned - the man's name was Westwood, not Wormwood. Back at the lab, Valerie was really getting into the case, and now she couldn't even remember the name of the victim's father.

"How long ago?" Val turned back to the photo. "I've always wanted to go to Maui. This is a view from the Marriot hotel, right? The view is _amazing_." She sounded awed. "That's gotta be summer, sometime."

The man smiled weakly. "Oh, yes, I took the family there last year."

"Your wife take the photo?"

Mr Westwood smiled and nodded. "Yes she… she's the one who takes the photos. I don't exactly have steady hands - all the shots I take come out blurry."

Warrick frowned at the red-head. But she continued to make small-talk.

"You were there last year, you said? Maybe you saw my brother. He works in a restaurant on the main street, just outside the hotel. Jim's Tiki Tiki Room? You been there?"

The man laughed, recalling. "Of course! How could I forget a place with a name like Tiki Tiki room?"

"My brother worked the drinks bar."

"Of course!" The man nodded, "I remember now!"

Val smiled, "Yeah, he was, what, a blonde surfer dude at that time? Johnny Wilson." She paused, looking worried. "You didn't tip him, did you?"

"Only a little." Mr Westwood admitted.

Val smirked. "Then he gave you free top-ups, I suppose." She rolled her eyes at the man's grin. "Oh, I'm so telling Mom on him. He should not be this susceptible to bribes."

In the kitchen, a high -pitched whistle announced that the water had boiled. Mr Westwood's shoulders sagged as the sound brought him back to the present.

"I'll get your tea," he smiled sadly at Val, then turned to Warrick. "And your coffee. I won't be a minute." He walked through to the kitchen and shut the door behind him. The screaming kettle died away.

"Alright, what was that about?" Warrick demanded.

Val's smile was gone, and her face was stony. "You have your radio with you, right?"

Warrick frowned, "Val, what was that?" He threw a hand to the photo. "What was with the conversation about Maui?"

"Okay," she said calmly, "I'll start from the beginning. The man I was just talking to didn't react when I told him his name was 'Wormwood' when three minutes ago I called him 'Westwood'. I've been to Hawaii - there is no Marriot hotel on Maui. There is no Jim's Tiki Tiki room. There is no bar where my brother works. My last name is Wilks, not Wilson… and I don't even _have_ a brother." She glowered at the kitchen door. "Warrick… this isn't his house. And that man is not Julia's father."

"How can you be so sure?"

Val pointed to a photo on the wall behind Warrick. He turned to stare at Julia, her mother, and her father, smiling, posed together in a hug. Julia's mother was a fresh-faced brunette, and Julia's father had a head full of hair the same colour as his wife and daughter's. Judging from the photo, he had to be about six foot.

The man who'd just gone for Warrick and Val's drinks was balding and was five-foot-four.

"How else do you think he knew 'his daughter' had been raped and strangled?" Val added in a hiss, "Unless the police here give out every single detail about the murder to everyone who asks?" She looked around, then lifted her voice. "Mr Westwood?" Val called out, "I love this statue. Is it from Bali?" She pushed open the kitchen door and peered inside. After a few seconds, she slowly shut the door and walked back towards Warrick, a strange expression on her face.

"I gather he's not making our drinks anymore." Warrick said darkly.

"They're missing a kitchen knife from their six-set," She said dryly, as she pulled her gun from its holster. Warrick did the same.

"Are you sure?" Adrenaline was replacing the fatigue. Very very quickly.

"Call Brass now," Val said calmly, cocking her pistol. "Suspect is in the building, armed and dangerous." She spared a glance at the photo of Julia and her family. "Cliché as that might sound."

-

Jackie laughed. "Oh, the looks on your faces. Absolute Kodak moment. Pure gold."

"You're Marcus's daughter?" Nick stared, goggle-eyed. "But your last name is Connors!"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Hello? It's a fake name. Like the baby-girl act. All fake." She smirked. "But it was so worth it."

"Was it?" Sara asked quietly. Jackie turned to stare quizzically at her. "Was it?" Sara repeated, "I mean, now that it's out in the open, everyone's going to know that you lied to them. Your friends aren't going to take that well."

Jackie blinked, slowly. "I guess I hadn't thought of that." She shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "They'll get over it. They'll understand."

"No-one ever understands why a friend betrays them."

Jackie looked savagely at Sara. "I didn't do this for Tina or Dana. I didn't even do this for me. I did it so Marcus would be put away, okay? And all the girls got beat up too, so they'll thank me later." She turned to look at Grissom. "I suppose you saw dear old daddy's rap sheet, right?" She slumped down in her chair. "Three domestic disturbances. Three _recorded_ domestic disturbances. Three strikes, you're out. Mom finally got the courage to kick him out. But I guess old habits die hard - and I guess he missed beating up his wife and daughter."

Sara swallowed, and her face went stony, but no-one noticed.

"Tina was abused more often and more violently than the other models," Grissom broke in, "Or so they say. Why was that?"

For an instant, Jackie looked guilty. She had to look down. "Because she reminded Marcus so much of his daughter. The guts she showed. The fact that she stood up every time he knocked her down. The fact that she wouldn't ever let him get to her. But the more Marcus 'disciplined' her, the less she was able to take. But still she kept fighting." Jackie sighed. "She should have just let him think he won."

"Which is what you did," Sara said. "Pretending to be a little kid…"

"Yeah." Jackie examined her fingernails. "I mean, as we came to Vegas, I think he finally broke her. It's like she gave up. And then she left, and she made me - the baby Jackie, anyway - keep it a secret." She looked up, a steely glint in her eyes. "But there aren't any secrets anymore, are there?"

"So," Nick frowned, "Go back a bit. You said you knew where Tina was. Where is she, exactly?"

Jackie sighed melodramatically. "Has anyone contacted her parents yet?" She looked from CSI to CSI. "Judging from the looks on your faces, that would be a 'no'." She sighed, and flapped a hand. "Like Dana told you, Tina's a local girl. Given that we've been touring all over the country, Tina didn't have anywhere else to go. She had to stay on, let Marcus pummel her…"

"So she's with her parents?"

Jackie nodded. "Yeah. They came, picked her up, took her home. I was there. I saw it all." She looked up, her face set and determined. "If you need Tina's testimony to get him behind bars, she'll give it." Jackie looked down at her hands again. "I just need some time to explain… this," she pointed to her face, "to her."

"I'll call Brass," Nick stood up and went outside.

Grissom and Sara were alone in the room with the model.

"You have more questions, don't you?" Jackie said.

Grissom smiled slightly as he sat down next to Sara. "You're a very perceptive young woman."

Jackie rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, to do a chameleon, you gotta be. One slip, and it's all over."

"I have a question," Sara broke in, "The blood on the catwalk…"

"It's Tina's," Jackie nodded. "But you probably knew that by now."

"How did that happen?"

Jackie bit her lip, then sighed. "It was the day after everything had been set up in the hotel. Tina had been quiet, just letting Marcus vent his spleen. He was just yelling at us this time - mainly Tina, since she gained a quarter-pound. All of a sudden, she snapped. She picked up a broom and tried to smash his face in." Jackie chuckled at the memory. "I nearly dropped by guard and joined in. But Marcus was stronger. He took the broom from her and…" Jackie's throat caught, and she cleared her throat. "Well, after a few minutes, the broom snapped. But he kept hitting her with the broken broomstick. It was sharp, so she was cut all over. And then, if that wasn't enough, he made her get up, stand there listening to him scream again, then he made her walk up and down the catwalk, up and back, over and over again…"

"And she was bleeding."

Jackie nodded. "That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Her dad came in that very night and took his baby girl home." Jackie stared at her hands, then quietly, almost brokenly, added, "I wish I had a father that cared that much." Then, a smirk, and Vincent's daughter was back. "But hey, I turned out alright, didn't I?"

"You're a survivor," Grissom said. "That doesn't mean you turned out 'alright'."

Jackie's smile vanished. "Yeah." She agreed. "I guess you're right."

Sara looked away and shut her eyes.

**

* * *

**

**A/N:** I wrote the outline for this fanfic long before season five came out… so if there are parallels between Tunnel Vision and Nesting Dolls, don't blame me. I haven't even seen season four yet. I know about Nesting Dolls because Nerwen throws transcripts at me. You know she ran into a wall and broke a toe when she found out about a certain GSR moment? (Heh, sorry Nerwen, but someone had to share that story around… If it wasn't me, then your sister would have done it. Beat me upside the head or sick Alsatians on me or whatever.)  
Please review? No flames please - and if you have questions, email me personally. I lub emails.

Oh yeah, and Val says thanks for the birthday greetings to all the fans who sent them n.n


	15. NonLethal Ending

Disclaimer: CSI not mine. Story of my life :(

* * *

Grissom knocked on the door and waited. He was prepared to wait a while, seeing as it was barely dawn. He squinted through his sunglasses as the door of the Evelyn home. Behind him, Nick and Sara also wore their glasses. _One of the downsides of working the graveyard shift_, Grissom mused wryly, _was a development of an aversion to sunlight_. 

"The cops called ahead, right?" Jackie asked Sara. The model had insisted on coming along, and had brought the bear with her. Grissom suspected it was her own version of guilt therapy.

Sara nodded at the woman. "But no-one picked up the phone. They might not even be here."

"Oh, they're here." Jackie looked up at the house, shading her eyes against the glare of the rising sun. "She's probably watching us now."

"If I were her, I'd take off. I wouldn't stick around here just waiting for someone to come looking for me."

Jackie looked witheringly at Nick. "First of all, you're not a girl. Second of all, you're not a model. Third of all, you're not Tina."

Grissom knocked again. "Las Vegas Crime Lab!" He called.

The door opened slowly, then stopped. A chain barred the way. Through the gap in the door, a man built like a brick outhouse glowered.

"Whaddyawan'?"

Grissom tried to be polite. "Sir, we'd like to speak to Tina…"

"She ain't here." The man scowled. "She's at some modelling thing."

"Sir," Grissom said civilly, "We're just investigating her disappearance…"

"Well if she's gone, I got no clue where she is." The man scowled, then gave Grissom a couple of flowery words to describe exactly where he and his partners should go.

"It's okay, dad," a soft voice said from behind the behemoth of a man, "Jackie's with them."

The man's eyes flickered up, narrowed in suspicion. Jackie stepped forward, and waved the bear at him. The door closed, and there was the sound of the chain sliding across.

The door opened, and this time it wasn't Tina's dad standing in the doorway. It was Tina.

She was beautiful, there was no doubt about that. Tall, slim, and gloriously blonde, she naturally had the body many girls around the world would kill themselves to try to attain. A heart-shaped face framed perfectly-proportioned, perfectly-aligned features, and eyes of the most alluring shade of blue took the world in and analysed it. She looked over Grissom, Sara, and Nick, before turning slowly to face her old friend.

"Hey, Tina," Jackie said, not even bothering to use the baby-voice. "How are ya, chicka?"

Tina blinked slowly, but otherwise didn't seem very surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to tell you that it's over," Jackie said quietly. "Marcus is going away. We just need you to come to court and tell everyone what that assholes been doing to you."

Tina tilted her head slightly, then turned to face Grissom. "You're serious? He's going to prison?"

"For the use and possession of cocaine," Grissom affirmed, "And for abuse."

"It never stopped him before," Tina said, barely batting an eyelid. Jackie squirmed slightly, almost unnoticeably.

"Well, we got him this time, ma'am." Nick said politely. "And he's going away for a long time."

Tina Evelyn, the most beautiful supermodel from Marcus Vincent's group of six, slowly began to smile. She hadn't had a reason to smile in a long time. Her smile, showing perfectly straight teeth, was infectious, and soon Jackie, Nick and Sara were grinning. Tina stepped outside and quietly shut the door behind her.

"Sure," she said, a Southern twang in her voice now that her good humour had returned, "I'll testify. Put that bastard behind bars for a good long time." She smiled at Jackie. "What took you so long, sugar? You should'a come t' me and told me much sooner that this is what you were plannin'!"

Then there was the squeal of tires, and Tina's smile vanished. Jackie's face grew white, and she quickly hugged her teddy-bear to her chest again, resuming the child-like persona. Grissom turned. There was no mistaking that car - he'd seem it next to Marcus's trailer, behind Caesar's Palace. Tina opened the door again and ran inside her house, calling for her father.

"She's _here_!" Marcus bellowed, launching himself from the driver's seat of his Cadillac, "That little whore was here _all_ _along_!"

The cops outside the Evelyn place tried to stop him, but it was like trying to stop a bulldozer with a feather duster. He just pushed them aside and kept striding towards the house. There was murder in his eyes.

"_Move_." He hissed at the CSI's. Nick, Sara and Grissom stood firm, all three of them reaching for their guns. "I said move, dammit! Get the hell out of my way!" When the three CSI's didn't budge, Marcus stepped back… and drew a gun of his own. Sara tightened the grip on her trigger, but didn't dare fire. She was the only CSI who kept her gun in her hands.

Marcus aimed his pistol at Jackie, who was to his left, and too far away for the CSI's to help her. "Move," Marcus hissed, "Or I blow her brains to hell." Jackie muffled a cry in her bear's head - she wasn't faking this time.

The cops came running up behind the mad manager with their clubs at the ready. But Tina's father got there first.

The manager stared at the muzzle of the shotgun aimed at his nose, almost going cross-eyed. For a man nearly seven feet tall, Mr Evelyn was very fast. He'd slipped from behind Nick, Grissom and Sara and gotten in Marcus's face before Marcus had even finished saying 'blow her brains to hell'.

"You little piece of…" Mr Evelyn remembered his manners, seeing as there were ladies present. "If it were up to me, I'd shoot you here and now for what you did to Tina." Mr Evelyn smiled, looking somehow more dangerous with the smile than he did with the gun. "But then, I think we outta do this the proper way, by the book. I'm pretty sure you'll get a fair trial…" He smiled. "I mean, you can afford a lawyer, right? Or did you spend everything on drugs, Mr Vee?"

Marcus dropped his pistol and put his hands in the air, whimpering and babbling. The cops stood back, gaping, eyes wide. Nick, Sara and Grissom also stood back. This was an extremely unexpected turn of events.

"Y'all gonna arrest him?" Mr Evelyn asked the crowd dryly, "Or am I going to have to get all Rambo on his ass?"

The police slapped handcuffs on Marcus Vincent and dragged him away.

Tina ran out of the house and hugged her father around the waist. The man grinned, lowered his shotgun, and ruffled his daughter's hair. "S'okay, honey. You're safe now." He glanced up at Grissom and his team. "We'll see that little prick… I mean, that little twerp, in court." Grissom and Nick managed feeble smiles

Sara went over to Jackie and put her hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Jackie took a steadying breath, then nodded. "Almost, anyway." She looked at Sara, then jerked her head in the direction that Marcus was being dragged. "Come with me? I need some kind of moral support here."

For a moment, Sara considered saying 'no'. Jackie had played her emotions, fooled Sara into believing that Jackie was something when she wasn't. But then, there was the fact that Marcus was her father. She had every reason to do what she did.

"Sure." Sara said, putting her gun away. The pair of them headed down to the cruiser where Marcus was being shoved, unceremoniously, in the back seat. He'd already seemingly recovered, and was heaping abuse and threats on the police who were trying to put him in the car. The manager caught sight of Jackie coming towards him, and sneered. A blank-faced arrogant sneer.

"What the hell are you looking at?" He barked.

Jackie lifted her head from the bear and stared him down. Then, without a word, she handed the bear to Sara and went towards him.

"Good luck," she said simply. Marcus stared at her, uncomprehending. Then Jackie smirked, just like her father did, and dropped the baby-act. "You're gonna need it… sweetie," she said, her voice with that same New-York twang.

Marcus' jaw dropped. He continued to stare back at his daughter even as he was driven away.

"You know," Jackie said thoughtfully, as she headed back up towards the Evelyn home, "I thought about giving him a speech. Y'know, something like '_Listen, you overgrown parasite: I've put up with your bull for years. You have no idea how gratifying this is, to finally see you going away_', but somehow this was much more satisfying."

Sara said nothing, but held the bear out to Jackie again. After a moment's hesitation, the model took it, and held it tightly in her arms.

"You know," Sara said, forcing herself to speak, "Now that Marcus is behind bars, everything he owns goes to his heirs."

Jackie snorted. "Oh yay, I inherit a drug dependence." She rolled her eyes.

"What about the company he made, Jackie?"

Jackie's eyes widened. "I hadn't thought of that." She stared at Sara. "You're serious? It all belongs to me?" When Sara nodded, Jackie stared into nothing, her eyes huge. "Wow."

"So," Sara smiled, "What are you going to do?"

Jackie suddenly became very businesslike. "Well, seeing as we've already been sponsored, all the clothes are there, and the place is all set up, why shouldn't the show go on? Nothing will have changed… except the management techniques." Jackie grinned. "This should be interesting." She sobered, and sighed. "But then, I've got a lot of explaining to do. To Dana especially. She trusted me, and she's going to have kittens when she finds out I lied to her. That I only pretended to be a little kid."

"Was it worth it?" Sara asked.

Jackie looked up at Sara, frowning… then, with a sigh, she shook her head.

"I don't think so." The supermodel looked wistfully up at Tina and her father, who were talking to Nick and Grissom. Both Evelyns wore grins on their faces. An aura of family togetherness surrounded them both.

Sara recognised that wistful look. She'd seen Val use it when Warrick, Nick and Sara had been talking in the lab together the previous night. She'd seen that look on the faces of children who saw an ice-cream truck drive past on a hot day. She'd seen it often enough in the mirror every time she thought of everything she'd lost… and of everything that she could never have.

"I don't think it was worth it," Jackie repeated softly. "After all my acting, after everything I did to become stronger, after everything I did to put him away, where he belongs… All I did was… _become_ him." She sighed again, then managed a sad smile. "But then, like your friend up there said, I'm a survivor. I'll deal."

Sara smiled, and watched as Jackie headed up towards the house. Tina saw Jackie, and ran towards her. The two girls embraced, as good friends would. Jackie began to speak, as though to explain, but Tina just laughed and tossed her head. She was just glad to see her friend alive and well.

Nick and Grissom came down the lawn towards Sara. "You ready to go?" Grissom asked her. _Grissom…_

Sara smiled. "Sure." She was glad she had her sunglasses on, so Grissom couldn't see the look in her eyes as she climbed in the SUV.

-

Val and Warrick paced quietly through the house, both glad for and cursing the carpet - it hid the sounds of their footfalls, but whoever this guy was he was armed, and he knew the house better than they did. He could sneak up on them without them even knowing. Both CSI's were torn between the decision to stay in the building and catch the criminal before he escaped, or waiting outside for the cops to arrive. Whoever was impersonating Mr Westwood wasn't one to mess around with.

"We should try and get outside," Warrick suggested.

Val seemed to teeter on indecision. "He could get away, though."

"He has a knife," Warrick reminded her.

"We have guns," Val countered. She looked around the house again. "He couldn't have gone far. What rooms are connected to the kitchen?"

"Getting a little gung-ho, aren't we?"

She gave him a withering look, but it was tinged with worry. "Warrick, we are the only ones here. The police aren't coming for another twenty minutes because of Grissom's supermodel case. We have to do this."

Warrick sighed, but was forced to agree. "You sure you're up to it?"

Val looked at him strangely. "Why wouldn't I be?" She slid sideways along a wall, and peered through a half-open door. Warrick stood on the other side, his gun held at the ready. On the count of three, they burst into the room.

Nothing. The room was empty - tastefully decorated, but empty.

"You always hold your gun like that?" Warrick asked.

Val held her gun in her left hand, down at waist level, angled upwards. Val looked up at Warrick. "It feels better that way," she said simply.

Warrick smiled slightly, then turned and padded silently across the living room, thinking Val would follow right behind him. But Val went into the room, and looked around, as though suspecting that the ersatz Mr Westwood was hiding behind the drapes, or a chair, or something. She moved forward, her hands by her side, her gun angled up. With her free hand, she pulled back the curtains. Nothing. Slowly, warily, she scanned the whole room, her eyes as fierce as they had been the day she was at Julia Westwood's home. This room was empty…

The light suddenly went out. Val whirled, but not fast enough. The door slammed, and she was plunged into darkness.

Warrick heard the door slam, and winced. He turned… and found he was alone. "Val?" There was no-one there. Come on, Val, this isn't the time to be playing around… "Val?"

Out the window, Warrick saw two cruisers pull up in the driveway. Brass was one of the officers who climbed out. He looked in a hurry.

Maybe if Warrick had been paying more attention to the room he might've seen the criminal creeping up behind him.

The blade passed within inches of his neck. "Aah!" Warrick leapt back, and lifted his gun to fire. The man launched himself at Warrick again, and the knife flashed silver in the post-dawn sunlight. The gun dropped from Warrick's hand, and the CSI saw blood spurt from his hand. He cradled it to his stomach, not knowing how serious the wound was, and not willing to take any chances. Blood smeared on his shirt.

The police began to hammer away at the door. Warrick heard Brass bellow something, but was more intent of staying out of reach of the man's kitchen knife.

There was the sound of a shot. The man with the knife staggered, hit from behind. Val came powering down the living room, gun held high this time, aimed at the victim. She saw the blood on Warrick's shirt and her eyes widened.

The man with the knife turned his attention to Val, and she fired twice more. The man buckled, then fell to the floor, groaning. Val waited until the man had stopped moving before lowering her gun and running to Warrick's side.

"I'm okay," Warrick said, before she asked any frantic questions. "He just nicked my hand, is all." The relief on Valerie's face was immense. Warrick held his hand up for both their inspections. It didn't even look that serious. Probably wouldn't need any stiches - just a bandaid.

Brass and his troop came barrelling in, guns drawn. They saw the man on the floor, immobile, the knife lax in his grip. They saw Warrick, his hand cut and bleeding, and Val with a gun in her hand.

"Well," Brass said dryly, putting away his pistol, "I guess you won't need us then."

Val cleared her throat, "Um, aren't you going to arrest him? He's not dead." As though to illustrate this point, the man on the floor gave a feeble groan, and his fingers flexed as he searched for the knife.

Warrick looked to Val, incredulous. "No way. You hit him right in the kill zone. Three times. You can't be that bad a shot."

Val rolled her eyes, then opened up the ammunition case of her gun. She held up one of the bullets. "Rubber-tipped. Painful, but not lethal." Her eyes dimmed, and her fingers strayed to her scar. "I know how easy it is to kill someone."

"Well," Brass smiled, as the police pulled the groaning man to his feet and cuffed him, "You made our job a whole lot easier. Next time, though, leave the bad guys to us. You should stick to your DNA and your fingerprints and your little…"

"DNA." Warrick looked up. "Brass, get this guy's DNA and compare it to the serial killer case we were investigating."

Brass raised an eyebrow. "Okay, sure. He's already going in for assault on an officer, so why shouldn't we get his DNA?" With a roll of his eyes, Brass strode out, followed the handcuffed assailant.

Val watched them go, then turned back to Warrick. "You sure you're okay?"

Warrick grinned. "Nothing I can't handle. And it's not that serious, Val, okay? So don't get all nurse-y on me now. If you want serious, talk to Nick. He got thrown out of a window once."

Val maintained a pleasant smile, but said nothing.

With a grin, Warrick headed for the door. "Come on, let's get back to the lab and see if we can solve this case."

* * *

A/N: Don't worry, it's not over yet. Review? Thankye. And to those who ask, do you know how HARD it is to find your way out of a dark room? That's what kept Val. Okay? Sheesh.  
Oh yeah, and WELCOME BACK NERWEN AND TINUVIEL! I missed you guys so much! n-nv 


	16. Buckets of Wrap Ups

**Disclaimer**: CSI belongs to somebody else.

* * *

"Well, you're not going to believe this," Brass said, ambling over to the coffee pot and helping himself, "But Mr and Mrs Westwood just got back from their holiday in Switzerland ten minutes ago. They saw the cops outside their place and thought they'd been burgled." Brass sighed. "The looks on their faces when I told them all they'd lost was their daughter… Man. Sometimes, I really hate this job." 

"I hear that," Val muttered under her breath.

"So," Brass turned to face Val and Warrick, a cup of steaming caffeine in his hands. "You wanna tell me the guy in their house was the murderer?"

"I sure do," Warrick said, grinning. "His DNA matched the samples of DNA at each of the crime scenes. His name is Hugh Lawson."

"The Mole Man Murderer." Val added, expressionless. "The reason he didn't leave his fingerprints on file was because he was printed years ago as part of his job. Y'know, just in case he got lost in the woods or something."

Brass raised a 'tell-me-more' eyebrow as he sipped at his coffee.

"He was a park ranger before he started working at Forrester and York Design and Construction as a - get this - carpenter. He left his old job round about the time a couple of hikers went missing up near Lake Mead." Warrick flexed his hand, which was half-wrapped in a white bandage. Just for safety's sake. "He had access to the blueprints, and first-hand knowledge of the house's design."

"So what was he doing at the Westwood's home?"

"Julia had a calendar back at her place," Warrick explained, "_'Mum and Dad away' _and _'Mum and Dad back'_ were written on it. She had her parents address tacked to the fridge. Mole Man's already opportunistic - why not rob Julia's parents while he's at it?"

"Only problem was, you guys showed up." Brass saluted them with his coffee cup. "Nice work, by the way. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go book a bad guy. See you tomorrow." And with that, the detective sauntered off.

Warrick turned to find Val staring at his hand. "You alright?" He asked her.

Val shook herself, and smiled. "Mmm. I just exorcised some demons of mine, is all." She drew a circle on the table with her finger, her eyes flickering to Warrick's hand.

Warrick looked down at the bandage, then back at Val. "Hey," he half-joked, "It could have been worse."

Val nodded, no longer smiling. "I know." She tapped her stomach. "Much worse. But I'm glad you're okay."

Warrick smiled. "So am I." He rose to his feet with a handful of papers. "I have to go file these. You wanna tell Grissom we're done?"

"I will give you five dollars if you kill that thing."

Grissom looked up to see an irate Val standing in the doorway to his office with a bill in her hand, gritting her teeth.

"And good morning to you too, Ms Wilks."

She slapped the money on his table and pointed to a glass tank on the shelf closest to the window. "You still have that roach in here. Kill it."

Grissom shook his head sadly. "Valerie, Goggles is an important part of the case. He's evidence."

"And all evidence must be destroyed…" She stopped, and stared. "Goggles?"

Grissom nodded. "Yes."

"You. Named. The cockroach."

Grissom nodded pleasantly. "Of course I did. Why shouldn't I?"

Val screwed her eyes shut tight, her entire body tensing up. "With all due respect, sir… You don't name something unless you intend to keep it."

Grissom looked over his glasses at her. _Yes, and?_

Val twitched slightly. "Dr Grissom," she said, her voice catching on her words, "Warrick and I just finished the Westwood case ten minutes ago. Therefore, all evidence pertaining to the case must be destroyed."

Grissom shrugged. "I don't think that counts where Goggles is concerned."

"That THING had nothing to DO with the case!" Val's voice almost hit the Muppet-pitch. "It's just a ROACH!" She twitched again, her eyes flickering to the glass container by the window. "And I am an extreme roach-a-phobic, okay?"

"The scientific name for a fear of cockroaches is…"

"I don't care," Val snapped, "The fact is, if you want me to stay here, you'll kill that _thing_."

Grissom sighed, frowned, folded his hands on his desk. "Valerie, everything has a right to live."

Val smiled icily. "Those things can take over the planet AFTER I'm dead. But while I'm alive, they should be exterminated."

"I'm not killing Goggles." Grissom said calmly.

Val pushed the money towards him. "Five dollars, Grissom. Just drop it in the tarantula's tank and let nature take its course." She smiled fondly at the tarantula, as though already imagining it tearing the cockroach to shreds. The tarantula moved lazily, as though dismissing the idea.

"Goggles has every right to live on this earth as you do, Valerie," Grissom said. He drew breath as though planning to lecture Val on the importance of a single life, the reason why one life should not impose itself on another, or something philosophical along those lines.

Val pulled another bill from her pocket. "Ten dollars, then."

With a sigh, Grissom took off his glasses and headed for Goggles' container. Without a word, he picked the cockroach out of the container… and held it out to Val.

She couldn't have gotten out of the room faster.

With something bordering on a smirk, Grissom dropped the cockroach back into his container and hid him on a higher shelf, out of sight. "There," he assured the cockroach, "That should keep you safe."

There was a vague wave of antenna.

As Grissom sat back down at his desk and booted up his laptop, he noticed Val had left the ten dollars behind in her rush to escape. Peering out the doorway, Grissom saw Val talking to Sara, apparently recovered from her 'roach-a-phobic' attack.

This time, Grissom did smirk - well, more of a smug smile, really - as he picked up the money and put it in his wallet.

"Hey, Sara!"

Sara looked up, and saw a grinning Val bearing down on her. "Hey Val. You finished your case?"

"Oh yeah." She smiled, "And I feel super. What about you?"

"The missing supermodel was at her parent's house all along."

Val blinked. "So, she wasn't kidnapped?" Val raised an eyebrow and affected a German accent. "Supermodels? Na-zhing super about zhem, dahling. Skinny, skinny girls with poofy lips who think about na-zhing but themselves." She grinned.

Sara blinked.

"The Incredibles," Val explained.

Sara frowned, uncomprehending.

"You need to get out more." She laughed, then smiled. "So, where are you taking me?"

Sara frowned. "Excuse me?"

Val rolled her eyes. "Come on, you've forgotten already? You said you were going to take me on a tour of Vegas."

"Oh. That." Sara frowned teasingly. "I thought that was just an excuse for you to get out of having breakfast with Nick."

Val shook her head. "Funny, Sara. Very funny."

Sara shrugged. "I try."

"Did Grissom notice the blouse yet?"

Sara looked over to Grissom's office. He was sitting at his desk, hand on his chin as he stared intently at his computer screen. He was so absorbed in his task he barely even noticed as people walked past, waving their goodbyes or hellos.

"Earth to Sara?"

Sara turned back to Val, forced a smile, and shook her head. "No, he hasn't said anything, but that's just so Grissom." She reinforced her smile. "I need a drink."

"Wow," Val said, matter-of-factly, "Me too." She grinned. "So, if you're not taking me on a tour of Vegas, why don't you show me where you graveyard-shift CSI's hang out in Vegas?"

"Oh…" Sara tried to cover her tracks. "I don't think you'll like this place. It's got a karaoke section, and some people really can't sing…"

"Karaoke?" Val's eyes lit up. "I _love_ karaoke!"

"Val, it's really not a good idea…"

Her eyes turned pleading. "Come on, Sara… After all, I did buy you the blouse."

Sara sighed, defeated. "Sure."

"Awesome!" Val grinned. "Let me just get my stuff, then I'll meet you outside." She grinned and waved goodbye.

Sara turned to look back over her shoulder. Grissom still hadn't moved, and was still staring at his computer screen. Sara headed for his office.

"Hey."

Grissom jumped, startled. "Oh, hi, Sara."

She leaned on the doorpost, her arms folded. "Still working?"

Grissom nodded, his eyes flickering back to the computer screen. "For a while longer, yes. Just some loose ends to tie up."

"Oh," Sara smiled, nodded, and smiled again. "Well, don't stay up too late. Or early."

Grissom smiled wryly, but his smile was directed at the computer screen. "Like you would do?"

Sara gave up. He wasn't going to notice anything. "Bye, Grissom." She turned away, not expecting to hear him say goodbye. Instead, she head him say something else.

"That's a nice shirt you have on, Sara. Is it new?"

Sara turned back to see Grissom smiling at her.

_I have worn this blouse for hours. I was in the same room as Grissom more than once. He had plenty of opportunities to see this stupid shirt and he only just says something now… And to top it off, all he says is 'it looks new'? The shirt looks new. Great. Wonderful._

"It's a blouse," Sara said, a little tersely, before turning away.

Grissom frowned at her retreating back, wondering what he'd said wrong this time.

"Sara? Sara? Hello?"

Sara looked up and saw Val looking at her, concerned. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Sara smiled tightly.

Val rolled her eyes. "You're still on that thing that Grissom said, aren't you." She gave Sara a knowing look, as though she expected Grissom to say something that would have made Sara feel down. "Listen, try to forget about it. Have a drink or three, sing a song. You can yell at him later."

"I don't feel like it," Sara said.

"What, yelling at Grissom? Or enjoying yourself?" Val flipped through the karaoke book in front of her, grinning, looking for another song. "Come on, Sara. We've been here less than half an hour. I've sung twice, with one more song on the way, I've had three Shirley Temples when I'd rather have something a little more alcoholic - but then, you ordered for me - … and you? You haven't even taken a sip from your first, and you're sitting there mute as a swan."

"Ugly duckling, you mean."

Val rolled her eyes and sighed despairingly, but otherwise said nothing.

"You know," Sara said, picking up her drink, "I guess I shouldn't have expected too much of Grissom. I mean… he's Grissom."

Val pointed to one of the songs on the page. "How about this one? Everyone loves a classic."

"… I mean, he tries, but he just… He's just so out of it. I can't see how much plainer I need to be. I mean, the one time I tell him how I feel, he runs away!"

"Maybe not," Val mused, flipping the pages, "I mean, you need a good voice to hit the high notes. And I mean, a really good voice."

"And it's not like he ever would say anything other than '_is the shirt new_'." Sara shook her head despondently.

"For people with less-than-average voices, nuh-uh. You can really murder a perfectly good song that way."

Sara frowned at Val. "Are you even listening to me?"

Val rolled her eyes and picked up her drink. "Sara, we came here for one reason."

"What, to have an excuse not to go out with Nick?" She teased.

Val's eye roll was more exaggerated than before. "Ha ha ha. No. It's to have a girl's night out. Even if it's seven in the morning. And a girl's night out means that we forget the guys and we have fun by ourselves. 'Kay?"

"Here, here." Sara picked up her Shirley Temple. "They're hopeless."

"Blind," Val added, holding up hers.

"Unstable. Useless. Predictable."

Val grinned. "And we're _so_ better off without 'em!" The two women clinked their glasses together in a toast. They took long swigs of their drinks, then sat in silence for a moment.

"We're liars, aren't we." Val broke the silence miserably.

Sara nodded, and sighed. Both women drank deep, lost in their own private thoughts.

"Hey Val?" Sara broke the silence.

"Mmm?" Val smiled through her straw.

"What was with that 'green tea' and 'peanut butter' thing you and Nick were talking about before?"

Val swallowed a mouthful of her Shirley Temple noisily. "I have no idea."

"Really? No idea whatsoever?"

Val blushed slightly under Sara's mock-stern gaze. "Hey, my song's up. Hold that thought." She got up from her chair and headed for the stage. Sara hid a smile.

"Come on, man, why not?"

Warrick gave Nick a meaningful look. "She's not interested, okay?"

"She told you to tell me that?"

"No, but I am."

Nick frowned at his friend. "What's wrong with just asking her to breakfast? It's not like I proposed or anything."

Warrick sighed and sipped at his beer. "Listen, man, walk away, alright? The girl has issues."

"Issues?" Nick frowned, "Issues like what?"

Warrick sighed again. "Listen, all I'm saying is she's not worth it." Warrick took another sip from his beer as he tried to think of a way of explaining it without breaking his promise to Val. "Just let Val go. There are plenty of other fish in the sea, Nick."

"Yeah," Nick grinned, "But who wants to date a fish?"

Warrick rolled his eyes and smirked. But Nick kept up the questions.

"What she tell you, anyway?"

Warrick shrugged. "Just some stuff. Quit asking and just drink your beer."

On the karaoke stage, a woman started to sing. _I'm so tired of being here, suppressed by all my childish fears…_

"But she said she didn't want to go out with me?"

"Almost."

"Why?"

Warrick frowned at Nick. "Listen, if you want reasons, go ask her yourself." He shrugged. "How the hell am I supposed to know what goes on in women's heads?"

Nick half-smiled, then took another sip of his beer.

_Your presence still lingers here, and it won't leave me alone…_

"The singer tonight's pretty good," Nick said. "Looks like the best karaoke singers come out with the sun."

Warrick snorted. "Yeah, picture that. And all the bad ones come out after dark. Like bats or something."

"So what does that make us? Coming out after dark to work…" Nick joked. Warrick laughed.

_There's just too much that time cannot erase…_

Warrick looked around the bar. It was pretty empty. Only the earliest birds and the extreme night owls were here. Luckily, the bar was open all day, every day. Like the city itself, really. He took anther sip of his beer.

_Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams; your voice, it chased away all of the sanity in me_

Warrick turned back to find Nick staring resolutely at the bottle in his hand, as though Nick were running conversations through his head.

"Nick," Warrick said calmly, demanding the Texan's attention, "Let her go."

_I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone… But though you're still with me, I've been alone all along…_

Nick sighed, and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right." He smiled weakly. "She's just one girl, right? Not worth crying over."

"That's better." Warrick smirked.

Nick frowned. "What is?"

Warrick grinned teasingly. "Nick the ladies' man shouldn't get hung up over one chick. Move on."

Nick grinned, then looked around the bar. Suddenly, his eyes popped out of his head. "Is that… _Sara_?"

Warrick swivelled in his seat, and both CSI's saw their colleague sitting in the karaoke section of the bar. She was watching whoever was singing, and sipping at a bright-red drink.

"Can't be," Warrick frowned. "Why would she come here?"

"It's her alright," Nick asserted, still staring. "I recognise that shirt. Val bought it for her. Speaking of which, wasn't Val supposed to be with her?" Nick looked around the room. Warrick rolled his eyes…

And then saw it was Val on the stage, singing with her eyes shut.

"What the hell?" He murmured, "She said she couldn't hold a tune in a bucket." But then, she'd also said, _I like my privacy… Don't tell anyone._

Nick had noticed too. "That's Valerie? Singing?"

The song ended, and the red-haired singer climbed down off the stage and headed towards Sara. After a moment of discussion between the two, Sara went up on stage and started to sing. Val sat back in her chair and tossed back the rest of her drink.

"I gotta go talk to her," Nick said, rising out of his seat.

But Warrick stopped him. "Talk to her tomorrow," Warrick said, being the voice of reason. "You'll see her at work."

The two CSI's watched and listened as Sara finished her song, then, when she came back down off stage, the two women picked up their bags and headed for the door.

Nick and Warrick exchanged glances, then got back to drinking.

**

* * *

A/N:** _Nick and Warrick walk into a bar. Cue punch line_. -.-;;  
-_foreshadowingforeshadowing_- Heh heh heh… n-nv  
WAIT WAIT WAIT IT'S NOT DONE YET! After reviewing, PTO! 


	17. With Geeklove From Sara

**Disclaimer**: CSI belongs to Jerry B.

**A/N**: Nerwen and Tinuviel alone know what song Sara sung.

* * *

"Interesting song choice," Val said, breaking the silence as Sara broke through the sunlit streets. 

"Thanks," Sara said, her voice void of expression. "You too."

"Was it for Grissom?"

Sara didn't answer. Val sighed.

"Look, I may be new here, but if I can pick up Grissom-Sara vibes on the first shift, I can give out advice. Right?"

"Advice? Like what?" They were nearing the Monaco.

"You're not getting any younger," Val said gently, "And neither is Grissom. I'm not saying that to be cruel or anything, but if you want something to happen, you have to MAKE it happen. Hear me?"

Sara's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Last time I asked him to have dinner with me, he said no."

"You're telling me that what happened today doesn't count for something?"

Sara looked over at Val and raised an eyebrow. "What happened today?"

Val smirked, "I'm a CSI, Sara. I notice everything." She patted her friend on the shoulder. "Take a chance, Sara. Don't let something like this pass you by." Val's smile faded, and this time she looked away. "I didn't know what I'd lost until Daniel was gone." She cleared her throat, and her hand slid down towards her stomach. Sara looked away, not sure of what to say.

_To lose someone like that would be more than just tragic_, she thought. _Poor Val_.

"Take a risk, Sara," Val said with a sad smile. "I know he loves you. I don't know how to explain it, but I can just tell. Take a dive. Don't wait until it's too late to let someone know how you feel… Look at me," she added dryly, "I'm the patron saint of a screwed relationship."

Sara nodded, though not exactly listening to Val's words. "I have to head back to the lab. Thanks for the shirt."

Val nodded and smiled back. "It's a blouse, Sara, a blouse. And thank _you_ for taking me to the karaoke bar. I had fun." She hopped out of the SUV. "See you later!" She waved.

Sara pulled out of the hotel, her mind already set. Val smiled as she watched her friend drive off. She turned, and headed up to her room. In the quiet of the hotel room, Val sat on the end of her bed. The reflection in the mirror stared back at her. She tipped her head to the side, thoughtful, mulling over what she'd just told Sara. _Take a chance. Don't wait until it's too late. Take a risk_. Val bit her lip, then impulsively reached for her cell-phone. She dialled and waited.

"Hey," she greeted the person on the other end of the line uncertainly, "I was just wondering… well, if you're not busy… do you… Well, I was thinking about breakfast… somewhere? I mean, you did offer… And if it's _just_ breakfast…"

Sara parked the SUV and headed back into the lab, hoping that Grissom would still be in his office. Her presence didn't go unnoticed by the CSI's on Day shift, but the way she purposely strode towards Grissom's office gave them no time to talk to her.

Grissom was there, but he was packing up. She'd caught him just in time. Sara took a moment to catch her breath before she knocked on the door.

"Hey Grissom." Sara leant against the doorway. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Well, I'm a little busy." He said, characteristically tilting his head to one side as he spoke. He was sorting through the massive piles of paperwork on his desk. The 'In' pile was noticeably much larger than his 'Out' pile - Catherine's absence was telling in little ways. "Will it take long?"

"Oh," Sara bit her lip, then shrugged. "Well if you're busy… I'd better be going." _It was a stupid idea. I mean, it's Grissom. And he didn't even notice my shirt - blouse - until the very end, so why should he even…_

"I can take a minute." Grissom put his files aside, and turned his entire attention to Sara. "What did you want to talk about?"

Sara struggled for form words. "It… It was nothing." Sara shrugged, shook her head, and turned to leave, but Val's words ran through her head. T_ake a risk, take a chance._

_I did… once_, Sara thought, as though in rebuttal, _and look what happened. He said no._

_So what? 'He said no'._ Val's argument rolled her eyes in Sara's head. _Not going to be the end of the world, girl. Just tell him, let him know you care about him already! You don't have anything to lose._

Sara took a deep breath, then turned back to face him, determination on her face. "You know what? I'll tell you."

"That's good…" Grissom gave Sara a slightly confused look. He hadn't heard the conversation in her head. "What is it?"

For a moment, Sara stood in silence. The noises in the lab died away. "I…" She bit her lip, looked around his office. "I…"

"Sara?"

She looked up at Grissom, stared at him. He wasn't wearing his glasses now - she could see his eyes. "I love you," she said, impulsively.

Grissom stared right back. _'I love you'? How could she… When she… She loves me?_

A long, painful silence stretched between them. Finally, Grissom turned back to his desk and picked up his glasses. His hands shook slightly as he put them back on and resumed sorting through the papers. He kept his head down and didn't look at her.

"Aren't you going to say something?" Sara asked gently, crushed by his reaction. He looked up at her, then back down at the pile of papers. "Grissom?"

He scooped up a handful of the papers, put them under his arm, and headed past her. "I have to go." He said shortly, and headed down the corridors, walking quickly, determined to put space between him and Sara until he could figure out what to say, what to do, how to deal… It's not that he didn't want to be with her, but he just couldn't… couldn't be with her. He didn't know how to… how to say anything… so he just walked away.

Sara watched him go, her face blank. Slowly, she rested her head against the doorframe and shut her eyes.

_What have I done?_

Sara closed the door to her apartment behind her, put her belongings down on the floor, then started to sort through the shopping she'd left on the kitchen table. Every movement she made was mechanical, like she was deliberately trying to distract herself with mundane tasks so she wouldn't have to focus on what had just happened… or what hadn't happened.

Milk, ice-cream and other cold items she'd put away before she went to work. Now there was just cereal, instant noodles, fruit…

_Dammit, Grissom, why hadn't you said anything?_

With a sigh that was almost a sob, Sara gave up trying to distract herself. She snagged her phone and threw herself down on the couch. She dialled quickly, then hugged her knees to her chest and waited.

She didn't have to wait long.

"Val here."

Sara smiled, glad to hear the voice of her friend. "Val! Val, its Sara."

"Hey! I'm so glad you called!"

"Val, I have to talk…"

"Problem is, I'm out right now."

Sara's heart sank.

"So leave a message and I'll get back to you shortly. Unless, of course, you're Greg, in which case… Don't. Thanks!" _Beep_.

Sara forced herself to steady her breathing before she trusted herself to speak. "Ah, hey, Val. It's me, Sara. I guess you're not there," she forced a laugh, then bit her lip. "Well… call me as soon as you get this message. Please. I need to talk to you… I…" She swallowed. "I did something… incredibly stupid."

Not trusting herself to say more, Sara hung up and set her phone aside. She sat in the solid silence of her apartment for a moment, then grabbed one of the pillows on the couch. Hugging it close for the small comfort it gave, she slowly laid her tired body down. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek as she stared into space.

The End.

**

* * *

A/N:** Many thanks to Nerwen and Tinuviel for the Geeklove dialogue and fluff - I can't do anything right without you guys! Thankyou to all my loyal fans and avid readers, for continuing on so far. Please review and give me warm and fuzzies. Yes, this is a cliff-hanger - but I'm not done with my CSI writing yet, am I? So, without further ado, I bring you some snippets from the next instalment in ICRep's CSI fanfiction! 

"You're pushing my patience beyond its limits. If you want to stay on this case, you'll do what you're told!"

"You know what? You were right. You do screw everything up."

"I'm not going to lose you."

_He kissed her so gently she wondered if she had imagined it. She pulled back slightly, to look into his eyes.  
And then there was a shot._

BASED ON JODI PICOULT'S INTERNATIONAL BESTSELLER, 'THE PACT'

… therefore, if you want surprises, don't read that book. Okay? Okay thanks _n-n_


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